Moments and Mead Halls
by petrichorister
Summary: "The young Imperial girl standing in front of him was armed with nothing but a rusted sword and a wooden shield." A series of drabbles and one-shots written for the 30 Days of Writing Drabble-a-Day challenge. Not Dragonborn-centric.
1. Beginning

4/12/14.**  
AN:** So I may have done that 30 Day Drabble challenge. And I may have written it all about Vilkas and Ria. Oops. So, here's 30 drabbles/one-shots of them. All chapters will be titled with the prompt given and will include the date they were originally written. I waited about a month to start posting so that I had extra time for editing. Please bear in mind that some of them will be full-length one-shots, not drabbles, and, while it's chronological, it's not going to be a cohesive story in terms of "inciting incident - build-up - climax - resolution."  
**Disclaimer:** Skyrim belongs to Bethesda.

* * *

The young Imperial girl standing in front of him was armed with nothing but a rusted sword and a wooden shield.

Vilkas looked her over carefully. She wasn't very impressive. A bit short, not much muscle, but she smiled. Gods, did she smile. Whatever she lacked in strength, it seemed she would make up for in spirit. Perhaps that was why Kodlak sent her his way. They hadn't had a new recruit since Torvar, after all, and Vilkas still thought letting him join had been a mistake. Maybe this girl would turn things around.

It only took a few hits for him to knock her flat on her back. So, she would require training, then. Kodlak would still let her in, of course. Kodlak would let nearly anyone in.

For once, he didn't think he'd be complaining.


	2. Accusation

4/13/14.  
**AN:** Many thanks to those who have already faved or followed! I honestly didn't expect a response after just the first chapter.**  
**

* * *

"Why can't I train with Aela?"

Vilkas paused. Why did she have to bring this up again _now_? He'd been training Ria for the better part of two months, since she'd arrived at Jorrvaskr. At the beginning, she'd asked if maybe she could train with the huntress, and he'd explained (perhaps a bit impolitely) that, if she wanted to get better with larger blades, he was the person to train with.

But now she was asking him again, and he didn't feel like repeating his reasoning.

She cocked her head to the side as she looked at him. "Do you dislike me?"

"Of course not." It wasn't a lie. She was still too new for him to have much of an opinion on her, but she had gumption, and sometimes he had to admire that.

"Ah." She smiled. "So it's a problem with Aela, then."

He frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"You two don't seem to get along well, is all. And, whenever anyone mentions her and she's not around, you get sort of... scowly. Like now."

Well, she wasn't wrong. He and Aela didn't see eye to eye on much at the moment, thanks to the fact that he just recently renounced Hircine's curse and began curbing his urges and she definitely hadn't. Moreover, he didn't think any of the new recruits should be introduced to the beast blood. He didn't want Ria or the others to end up the butt of an enormous Daedric joke as he had, wherein the hunters quickly became the hunted. Aela didn't seem to understand that it really all was just a joke, a prank played on them by omnipotent beings that considered them little more than mortal playthings, and for that he was angry.

But Ria was the first to notice.

"I'm not trying to put words in your mouth, Vilkas. I'm just..." She screwed up her face in thought for a moment. "Forget I asked."

He didn't.


	3. Restless

4/14/14.

* * *

He couldn't sleep. He rarely could.

When he was little, his restlessness stemmed from nightmares where he couldn't move, couldn't find Farkas. Now, it came from nightmares where he couldn't _stop_ moving, lest Hircine take his mortal soul. If he tried to sleep, he would awake drenched in sweat, and it had only gotten worse since he'd stopped succumbing to that wretched curse. On nights when he was extremely lucky, he didn't dream at all.

Tonight he found himself stumbling down the hallway after a particularly vivid nightmare, bumping into a table and knocking over some goblets in his sleep-deprived state. He cursed quietly to himself as the metal fell to the floor with a _clang_ before cleaning up his mess and heading up towards the mead hall and the fire pit, and, most importantly, the mead.

No sooner had he uncorked a bottle and raised it to his lips than had a quiet voice come from behind him, making him nearly choke on his mead in surprise. "Vilkas?" Ria's voice cut clear through the near silence of the hall. "Is that you?"

He sputtered out the rest of his sip as he nodded. "Aye. What are you doing up?"

"I'm sorry, I just... I'm a light sleeper, is all, and I heard a lot noise. I wanted to see if you were okay. Are you?"

Nobody had asked him that question in a long time. When he was little, he could go to Jergen, but Jergen left early, which left Vilkas with four other members of the Circle (gods forbid he ever wake Arnbjorn), Tilma, and his brother. As he grew, the Circle changed as people left, or died, or simply stopped checking on him as often. Eventually, he stopped bothering Tilma unless he was _extremely_ upset, and he would let Farkas sleep. In fact, the last person who asked how he was faring was Kodlak, and that was a few weeks ago and in reference only to the beast blood.

That someone else might care was a surprise indeed.

"I'm fine, Ria," he told his shield-sister. "Go back to sleep."

"Alright." The Imperial made it halfway to the stairs before she turned around again. "Vilkas?"

"Hmm?"

"I hope that whatever's troubling you comes to an end."

He sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Thank you, Ria."

"Good night, Vilkas."

"Good night."


	4. Snowflake

4/15/14.**  
**

* * *

Winter in Whiterun was a beautiful sight, provided one wasn't a contender for the title of "Skyrim's Grumpiest Citizen".

The children running through the streets sang songs of merriment and threw snowballs every which way, sometimes knocking innocent passersby in the process. A light dusting of snow adorned every roof. For once, even the dying Gildergreen looked as though it belonged, as though the lack of blossoms was just a natural part of the seasonal change.

Vilkas hated it.

It wasn't the cold, but rather the snow. Snow was slippery, and snow ruined things. Snow would melt and warp wood and clothing. Of course, Jorrvaskr was hardy enough to stand up against it, but the scarves he'd knitted weren't always so lucky. They'd get stretched and stay that way. He might not have minded it so much in the past, before he'd taken the beast blood, nor did he care quite so much when he was still willing to transform, but that was long since past. Knitting was something he'd learned as a child, and he'd found it relaxing. And as he found he needed more reason to relax, his patterns became more complex, and it became more frustrating when things happened to ruin them. Or perhaps he had just become more irritable. It was difficult to tell.

It didn't help that snow was a distraction to the woman he was trying to train. He tried; _gods_, did he try, but Ria was focused fairly intently on the snow falling around her. Her sword had fallen to the wayside as she held out a hand.

"Do they not have snow in Cyrodiil?" he asked, his irritation growing.

"Wouldn't know. I'm not from Cyrodiil." Before he could ask where she _was_ from, she jumped excitedly. "Look!" she cried, holding out her finger to him. "I caught one!"

"You've caught several. You're covered in them."

"It's not the same," she said with a smile. "You can see the ice on this one. It didn't melt when it reached my glove. The ones that fall on your face melt on your skin, or they break when they hit your armor, but if you're careful you can catch one. Like this." Her smile was brighter than the sun, which wasn't too difficult today, as the sun had so gladly hidden itself behind the clouds.

Vilkas leaned in to humor her. To her credit, the snow was still in perfect form, balancing delicately on her gloved finger. The flake spiked from the center in seven directions, forming a pattern of weaves and veins that stuck together seamlessly. He had to admire nature's artistry.

"Pity that such a lovely thing destroys itself just to rust swords."

Ria stuck her tongue out at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what the reactions of the other Companions would be: a flurry of groans and punches with some "Gods, Vilkas, can't you just _enjoy_ something for once?" thrown in for good measure. But she didn't groan, or throw a punch, or call him out on his inability to stay happy.

"You're just upset because you can't catch one yourself," she said with a smile. "It's alright. I can help you." She stuck out another finger as she chased one falling flake, before adding a sheepish, "And then we can train. Sorry."

He wanted to be irritated. He should have been. He should have snapped at her to start training right away and forget about the damned snow. But he didn't. He watched her with hidden amusement for another few minutes until she finally conceded and picked up her sword again of her own accord.

Maybe snow wasn't so bad.


	5. Haze

4/16/14.

* * *

The full moons were the worst when Vilkas wouldn't transform. They didn't use to be as bad, or at least he didn't notice it. It wasn't until he tried to control his transformations that he realized that he was becoming more beast than man.

Now, however, he found himself in a fog the entire day before and after Masser shone bright in the night sky. He had trouble concentrating, became more irritable, and generally lashed out at everyone around him. And, if Secunda shone bright alongside the larger moon, as it would tonight, his moods were amplified.

Today, he confined himself to glowering in the corner, nursing a mead. He didn't have the patience to deal with people, and he didn't have the attention span to pursue activities which normally relaxed him.

For the most part, the other Companions knew to leave him alone when he was like this. Aela goaded him occasionally, because it amused her, and Torvar had made the mistake of bothering him once and ended up with a black eye. Njada was the only one who was as surly as he, so she understood that he was to be left alone, and Athis simply ignored him. Farkas had picked up on his mood shifts when they were children, and Skjor and Kodlak had been around long enough to know that a grumpy Vilkas was not worth talking to.

Ria seemed blissfully unaware as she approached him.

"Are we going to train today?" Her voice rang clear through his haze, much like a beacon in a storm. Vilkas couldn't tell what exactly it was that helped him focus on the sound of her, but somehow he felt remarkably calm of a sudden.

"I think we'll be taking the day off," he said quietly. Most of the world still seemed a blur, and he doubted that what little calm had come to him would last. "Go spar with Torvar. Gods know he needs the practice."

"Alright." She gave a small smile before turning to go. She'd barely made it two steps before turning around again. "I hope you feel better soon."

Vilkas merely rubbed his temples as he leaned forward. "Thank you."

Farkas commented the next day that Vilkas almost seemed like a normal person.


	6. Flame

4/17/14.  
**AN:** First chapter from Ria's perspective. Woo!

* * *

Light and shadow danced around the mead hall from the fire pit in the center. Patterns on the ground grew complex as flame spiked higher and fizzled, reflecting off the glass bottles left laying around. The pit was the only source of light at this time of night, as the sun had set hours ago and most Companions were either asleep in their beds or drinking off the night at the Bannered Mare.

For her part, Ria was staring into the fire pit, watching as the flames licked against the logs and coals. She ought to have been asleep, resting in preparation for her trek to Shor's Stone for a job, but a certain nervousness gnawing at the pit of her stomach had her awake.

She nudged the coals with an iron poker as she sighed. Tomorrow wasn't going to be easy, especially if she couldn't get a proper night's rest.

Her mind wandered to the past three months. She'd grown as a warrior, at least a bit, though she hadn't had much chance to put her skills to any use outside of her trial. She still wasn't sure what the trial had meant (hadn't she been a member of the Companions a month before that happened?), but she'd survived it, as the others had before her.

It was comforting to know that she got along well enough with the others. Torvar and Athis could be great fun to be around; Torvar with his drunken tales and Athis with his memories of Morrowind. Njada wasn't half as bad as she seemed, and Ria found that the woman's haughtier comments often hid some twisted version of fondness. Vignar and Brill admittedly weren't around enough for her to form much of an opinion around, but Tilma was quite lovely and often conned Ria into helping her prepare for evening meals. The Circle, too, were a part of her new-found family. Aela seemed pleased that there was another woman in the hall, and Skjor seemed pleased that Aela was pleased. There was Kodlak, who always seemed so kindly, far more so than Ria expected for the leader-of-sorts for a warrior group. And there was Farkas, who was probably the friendliest of the bunch and would greet her most mornings with a solid thump on the back.

And there was Vilkas.

Ria prodded the coals again as she thought. She oughtn't to be thinking at all, really. He was just her trainer. Any other ideas on the matter were a silly fantasy. But there was something about him that made her curious. He could be so lovely, when he smiled and laughed and joked along with the rest of them. But then that side would disappear, and he would sit in a corner and avoid contact with everyone else. He didn't become mean, per se, just... aloof. Lonely. Maybe a bit grouchy. She wondered why.

The flames in front of her were beginning to die down. She stifled a yawn. Not that it matter whether she stifled it or not, really, as no one was around to see her or the smoldering embers in the pit.

Funny, how those embers reminded her of his eyes... The remnants of the flames burnt like passion, like the light behind his eyes when he made a kill. The coal-tinted warpaint that he used added to the resemblance.

One of the flames flickered upward, a movement so fluid it may as well have been a twirling ribbon. Or a well-aimed sword, swung by a skilled swordsman. A skilled swordsman with a thick accent and a strong arm. A thick accent that spoke of knowledge, and a strong arm that might find itself wrapped around her waist...

"Ria?"

She hadn't even known her eyes were closed until they'd flashed open again at the sound of Vilkas' voice. The fire was down to the last fading coals, and the mead hall was almost entirely dark. She could barely make out her shield-brother's form.

"Huh?"

"You should go downstairs, grab a bed," Vilkas said, his voice gentle. "You'll be cursing yourself if you have to go all the way to Shor's Stone with a crick in your neck."

She sat up and murmured a "thanks" and a "good night" before heading down to the whelps' room.

When she slept, she dreamt rather vividly of fire.


	7. Formal

4/18/14.  
**AN:** This one sort of got out of control. 1,300 words definitely isn't a drabble. Most drabbles don't require me to revisit my old music history textbooks. It's crack, but it's crack that has research behind it, gosh darn it, even if I am butchering medieval/renaissance music for my own ends.  
Also, most courtly love songs (which, as you will probably be able to tell, I am _not_ experienced in writing) aren't actually dance songs. Like I said, butchering music history for my own means. This is not the last time this will happen. I'm sorry.  
Oh, and lastly, to give credit where credit is due, my little court song is at least partially inspired by "A Chantar M'er" by Beatriz de Dia.

* * *

When Ria was five winters, her mother started to teach her court dances from Bruma. The little girl stumbled, tripped over her own feet more often than not, but as the years went by she eventually picked up on a couple of them. She didn't much care for them, but it was one thing that tied her mother to her home, which always seemed so distant from the wooded town of Falkreath.

And when Ria was eight winters, her mother attempted to encourage her in the musical arts, telling her all about the Imperial court troubadours and how different they were from Gregor down at Dead Man's Drink. These Nordic bards all sang of battles and played crude melodies on poorly-constructed lutes and drums, but the troubadours in the courts of Cyrodiil played flowing tunes on beautiful oaken shawms and psalteries and told tales of royalty and love. If she liked those songs so much, Ria thought, she ought to have just stayed in Bruma. But she humored her mother, let her sing the songs and try to teach her the dances that matched them.

All the while, Ria presumed that these lessons would be forgotten entirely. After all, she wasn't going to live in the court in Bruma. _She_ was going to be a warrior. She, too, was going to fight off Orc beserkers, and kill bears, and save the citizens of Skyrim one glorious battle at a time.

Now, however, she was glad for the lessons, if only because it made her seem smarter in her current conversation.

If she hadn't noticed Vilkas reading that book, perhaps she might have forgotten every song her mother had ever taught her. Perhaps, if she hadn't asked why he was reading about the bards of Skyrim, and if he hadn't responded with a startled look and a general claim of curiosity, she might not be sitting there telling him all about the music of Cyrodiil.

"It sounds different than the songs here," she explained. "Or, at least, the songs mother always sang were..."

"How so?" The look in his eyes was one of clinical curiosity, of a desire for knowledge purely for the sake of knowledge. She had never pegged him for a musician (indeed, it was his brother who was known to break out his lute on nights when the Companions stayed up until the wee hours of the morning drinking), but he was completely fixed on the subject at the moment.

"Well," she said, unsure of where to start, "most of the music you hear around Whiterun is in taverns. And that's what it's like everywhere in Skyrim. The jarls don't have troubadours sitting around. In Cyrodiil, they do, I think. They play for big formal events."

"But you said it sounds different."

"It does. It's... oh, how do I put it?" For half a moment, Ria wished she'd paid more attention to her mothers rantings about the arts. "The music Mikael plays at the Bannered Mare, it's all choppy. They're verses, and when each one ends it could be the end of the song. It's just little bits smashed together." She looked at him expectantly, hoping that made sense. When he nodded, she continued. "The music my mother sang was different. Everything flowed from one thing to the next. You knew when the end of the song was, because that was the only thing that _could_ be the end of the song."

"That's only the difference between court songs and folk songs, then," Vilkas said. "The inns surely have music more like what you'll hear in Skyrim."

"Maybe. I don't know." Ria shrugged, realizing that she really didn't have all that much to say on the subject. "I think the songs are about different things sometimes, too. The bards in Skyrim all sing about battles."

"And what do the bards in Cyrodiil sing of, then?" He sounded almost as though he couldn't believe anything else would be worth singing about.

"Troubadours," she corrected him. "They sing of love and royalty, mostly." She smiled at his offended scoff. "It's really very nice music."

"Is it?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Let's hear it, then."

"Oh, they're no good without the dances," she responded with a wave of her hand.

"Alright, then. Then we'll dance."

Vilkas was on his feet in seconds, leaving Ria rather confused in her seat. When she glanced up to look at him, he had his hand outstretched to her. She took it cautiously, willing herself not to shake with nerves. It had been a few years since her mother had last tried to teach her anything. What if she'd forgotten?

"To start with," she said as she thought, "you bow to your dancing partner. It's a sign of respect." Oh, she hoped that was right.

He bowed low, his armor creaking as he did. Ria quickly followed suit. "Now, there's a rhythm to the song. It's a sort of... a _one_, two, three, _one_, two three, and you step on the _one_, and on the two and three you..." She racked her brain for a moment, hoping she would come up with the right answer. "You shift your weight back to your other foot, and you... Oh, it'll be easier if I just show you."

She was grateful that her past few months at Jorrvaskr had increased her coordination, because the steps that once caused her to fall flat on her face were now causing her little trouble. She stomped with one foot, then did a quick shuffle of her other feet. She repeated the motion in reverse, showing how the movement flowed. Vilkas nodded that he understood. "It's important that you use the same foot I use, because we're supposed to dance facing each other and move in a circle. I suppose it doesn't _really_ matter what we're supposed to do, since the song is _supposed_ to have a psaltery playing also, but... Well, you get the idea." She raised her hand in the air, elbow bent rigidly, before she realized that she had neglected to mention that part. "Oh, and you ought to have your hand against mine, out like this."

"Is that everything?" he asked as he moved into position, smirking a bit. Damn him and damn his smirk.

She nodded once as she prepared herself to sing the song. How did the poem go, again?

"Oh, _sing_ I shall, _of_ whom my _heart_ has ad_mired_," she began, feeling her voice quiver just a bit. She had never been a particularly good singer, but she followed the melody and tried to keep her voice steady by emphasizing the first beat of every pattern."He _sees_ me not, _loves_ me not, though _well_ I've as_pired_. _Bit_ter am _I_, for my _heart_ knows such _pain_. _Now_, shall I _nev_er know _love_ yet a_gain_. My _kind_hearted _laugh_ter makes _lit_tle im_pres_sion, nor _vir_tue, nor _beau_ty, nor _acts_ of af_fec_tion."At least the movement of her feet was something she didn't have to focus on as she strove to remember the rest of the words. "And _bles_sed be _he_, whom my_ heart_ may a_dore_, for _love_ will be _mine_ to be _cursed_ with e'er _more_-"

It was at that point that Ria realized she had just been singing an Imperial love song. To Vilkas. While dancing with Vilkas.

Oh, dear.

"Well, you get the idea, then," she said as she hurriedly withdrew her hand.

"Yes," he said, startled at her sudden retraction. At least, she told herself that was the reason. She hoped it had nothing to do with the song itself. "I suppose so."

"I'll leave you to your book. Enjoy your reading, shield-brother." With that, she turned away and made her way to the back lawn of Jorrvaskr.


	8. Companion

4/19/14.  
**AN:** Oslaine is my Dragonborn from the story "Heaven and Home Again."

* * *

"I like her," said Ria as she took a seat next to Vilkas.

_Her_, in this case, was a Bosmer named Oslaine, the newest member of the Companions as of that morning. She was a couple decades older than Ria, but hardly looked it. That was the thing with elves: one could never _quite_ tell. Of course, age was of little import. What mattered was her strength, and she'd proven _that_ with ease when she'd sparred with Vilkas after her arrival.

Vilkas scowled. "She'll still have to prove herself."

"She knocked you to the ground. What else does she need to prove?"

Her shield-brother frowned in response and was silent the rest of the evening meal.

When Ria retired to the whelps' room later that evening, Oslaine was laying out her few possessions by a bed in the corner. The elf didn't have much; as she'd explained to them all earlier, she'd run into some trouble crossing the border and what few items she'd had then were stripped from her, and she'd had to scavenge like a bandit to make it to Whiterun. It was a testament to her strength that she'd made it there at all: a lot of men and women had died that day at Helgen, and she'd made it out alive.

"How was your first day?"

The elf jumped just a bit at the sudden noise, but quickly recovered and turned around with a smile. "Good as it could be, I suppose." She sighed as she sat down on the bed and pulled off her boots. "Tiring. And I guess I'll have to get used to everybody."

"They're good people," Ria reassured her. "Kodlak's a good Harbinger. _And_ it looks like Farkas has taken a liking to you already."

"_Farkas_ isn't the one that worries me," Oslaine responded as she unstrapped her breastplate. "Vilkas dislikes me."

"Oh, no he doesn't. He dislikes that you beat him. There's a difference." Ria smiled as she took her seat on the bed across from Oslaine's. "Besides," she added, her voice trailing just a bit, "he's nice, really. You should see him when he smiles."

Oslaine grinned, picking up on the change of tone. "I see."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Of course it wasn't." The Bosmer shot her a wink before lying down. "Sweet dreams, shield-sister."


	9. Move

4/20/14.

* * *

The mammoth barreled towards them at alarming speed.

Ria was nearly frozen with shock as the ground shook beneath her. The giant that had been causing problems around here had gone down with surprising ease, and Ria had considered it a job well-done for her and her shield-brother. But she'd forgotten about the giant's livestock, which apparently didn't like seeing its owner fall under their arrows.

She gulped. Mammoths were awfully big, she realized rather suddenly. And, gods, those _tusks_... One swoop, and she could easily be dead on one of those things. That would be an awful way to go, too. By sword, she could deal with, but by mammoth tusk? Oh, that was just sad.

"Move!"

Vilkas' shout drew her from her shock and Ria leapt out of the way just in time to miss being crushed. When she got on her feet again, she began firing arrows as fast as her arms would allow. She wasn't a skilled archer yet, as she had only just begun some light training on the side with Aela, but she was good enough to get a few arrows into the mammoth's side while Vilkas slashed at its legs.

The mammoth fell, toppling over in Ria's direction. She moved quickly to avoid being stuck beneath it.

As she caught her breath, Vilkas stepped around the slain beast. Concern was plastered all over his face. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so," she said uncertainly, checking herself as she did. Sure enough, a splotch of red and purple was beginning to form on her leg from landing on it after jumping out of the way. "Nothing more than a bruise. It's alright, though. If this is the worst I've got, I can't complain."

He nodded, some relief washing over his features. "Come on, then. We'd best get moving if we're to make it to Whiterun before midnight."


	10. Silver

4/21/14.

* * *

Ria didn't know what was going on, but she knew where she needed to be.

She wasn't needed outside, where Aela and Torvar had finished off the last remaining Silver Hand members. She wasn't needed over Kodlak's body, where Farkas and Njada already stood. And she certainly wasn't needed by Vilkas, who was flitting from place to place in a fury, barely containing his anger.

Athis could use her help, though. She could fetch him a healing potion, or keep him from choking on his own blood as Tilma fetched him a healing potion instead. And that was what she would do for now.

She stroked her friend's hair reassuringly as she waited for Tilma to return. The old woman had left a few cloths and a bucket of water for the time being, to tend the rather nasty wound on his chest. His breaths were labored, but he would survive. "It'll be alright," she murmured as she dipped the cloth in the water and raised it to his wound. He hissed at the contact, but didn't say anything.

Footsteps approached. "Back with the healing potion already?" Ria asked before looking up. When she turned her face up, she was a bit embarrassed to realize that it was not Tilma, but Vilkas, who stood before her. "Oh. Sorry."

"You're not injured, then?" His voice was lower than usual, both in pitch and volume. Whatever rage he was feeling was bubbling beneath the surface, and he seemed to be waiting for the exact moment to let it loose.

Ria shook her head. "Don't know how, but I'm alright." A million questions flitted through her brain at once. Who were those vile people? What had been so damned important that they felt the need to leave the Harbinger dead? As she looked at Vilkas, she got the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that none of her questions would be answered today, but she decided to ask anyways. "What happened today... what reason do the Silver Hand have for attacking Jorrvaskr?"

"Does it matter?" His voice was tense. She hadn't asked enough to provoke him to anger, but she was close.

"Yes!" She felt her usual calm leaking just a bit as she fought back tears. Oh, she'd been wondering when they'd show up. "People come in and attack us, I'd like to know why! Look what they did to Athis-"

"Athis will be fine."

"Will you be?"

Vilkas just looked at her for a moment, and she knew his answer. She wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, that she'd be there for him, but, honestly, she didn't know if anything _would_ be okay, with the closest thing he'd known to a father dead, and it wouldn't have been her place to tell him as much anyways. She wanted to hug him, but she feared the reaction when he was so clearly incensed, and it wouldn't do to leave Athis' side.

He walked away without another word.

Before Tilma could return, the front doors to Jorrvaskr swung open. Ria instinctively reached for her sword, but it was unnecessary, as none other than Oslaine stood in the doorway, a blood-soaked sack in her hands. She looked horrified, frantic, and Ria could feel nothing but sympathy for her.

For Vilkas, however, this seemed to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

He started shouting at her the moment she walked through the door. Ria had to give the elf credit for shouting back just as loud. He yelled on about how she ought to have been there to defend Kodlak, and she yelled back that it was because of Kodlak that she'd been gone in the first place. He informed her, and everyone else, of his new plan to enact revenge, and she'd solemnly nodded in return.

"We leave now," he growled.

"We leave when I say we leave," the elf snarled back, "and I say we leave in the morning. It does no one any good for us to be walking through the night-"

"Who said we'd be walking?"

"I did," Oslaine said firmly. "If we're exacting this damned vengeance, we're doing it my way, and my way includes not using this godsforsaken curse. You are stronger than the blood, Vilkas. You'd do well to remember it."

Ria couldn't see Vilkas' face, but she could see the way his shoulders' tensed and his fists balled. "Fine," he spat, and some of the tension released. He stormed off to a bench near the stairs, and there he sat with his face in his hands. He wasn't weeping, he wasn't one to do so, but Ria still felt a pang of sympathy for him. The Bosmer hadn't deserved his words by any means, but he was hurting nonetheless.

Now that their shouting match was over, Oslaine approached Ria where she sat. "How's Athis?"

"I've been better," the Dunmer choked out, giving a slight smile in spite of his pain.

"Let me see what I can do," Oslaine muttered. She held up her hands, and a strange golden light emitted from them. Magic was discouraged at Jorrvaskr, perhaps, but Ria certainly wasn't about to stop her from healing their shield-brother. Slowly, the light worked away at Athis' wound, mending the skin bit by bit. "Is that any better?" the Bosmer asked, her face full of concern until Athis' nod sent a flood of relief over her features. "I'm not particularly good with magic, so I'm sorry if it didn't do much."

"It did enough, friend," he responded. "Many thanks."

Oslaine smiled at him, but there were many emotions showing through her eyes: sadness, and anger, and guilt.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," Ria said quietly. Oslaine turned to look at her rather quickly. "I know what Vilkas said, but it could have been any of us out there. We're lucky we had as many here as we did."

"There shouldn't have been an attack at all," Oslaine sighed. "That much is my fault."

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me how."

"There's no way we can keep the secret any longer, I'm afraid," the elf said, "but I'm not entirely sure I can explain it. Give me the night to think on it, and I will let you all know before I leave. If Vilkas and I fail to eradicate the Silver Hand, it's important to know who you're up against."

For now, Ria supposed, that would have to suffice.


	11. Prepared

4/22/14.  
**AN:** In the game, it seems like the non-Circle members have no idea about the beast blood, and that doesn't seem to change after the questline ends, but I sort of get the feeling they'd have to find out sooner or later. Like there's no way a group of werewolf hunters could show up, attack a very specific group of people, and arouse _no suspicion whatsoever_.

* * *

So.

The Circle were all werewolves.

Not _all_, not anymore, Ria noted as she thought it over during breakfast. In the time Ria had to cope with that revelation, Farkas and Oslaine had both cleansed themselves of the beast blood. They'd cleansed Kodlak, too. For that, Ria was glad. The former Harbinger deserved the chance to go to Sovngarde.

Aela was still a wolf, but Aela had stated explicitly that she had no intention of changing that. Vilkas, too, was still a werewolf, but it seemed as though that might not last much longer, given what Farkas had told her about his twin's difficulty controlling the beast.

Ria's thoughts on the matter were interrupted when she heard Vilkas' voice sound across the mead hall. He seemed to be in discussion with Oslaine, who'd become Harbinger after Kodlak's death. The elf looked surprised, but pleased. Ria couldn't quite make out what the two were saying, but they weren't arguing, which was a nice change from the shouting match they'd had after the Silver Hand attacked. As the conversation across the hall came to a close, Ria barely caught Vilkas' final words: "My soul is now prepared."

The elf gave the Nord a warm smile before mumbling one last thing and wandering down the stairs to the living quarters. When Vilkas turned around, he looked calm; calmer than he'd been in months, in fact.

"Well met," he said as he grabbed a bottle of ale and took the seat next to Ria.

She nodded in return. "You seem well, Vilkas."

"I've not felt so good in a long time," he admitted as he raised the bottle to his lips. He took a long sip before putting the bottle down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'll be gone the next few days. You should take that time to train with Aela on archery."

"If you're telling me to train with Aela, you must be in a good mood indeed," Ria responded with a laugh."Where are you going?"

"The Tomb of Ysgramor."

Ria stalled as she heard his answer. Wasn't that where the Circle had gone to cleanse Kodlak's spirit? Hadn't Oslaine and Farkas returned there to cleanse their _own_ spirits? If Vilkas was going, did that mean...

"You are going to rid yourself of Hircine's curse?" She was glad to see the smile on his face as he nodded. "Do you mind if I ask... You've been in the Circle so long, and you've been a werewolf that whole time. It's a bit personal, I know, but, do you think you'll miss it at all?"

Vilkas drew a deep breath, his smile fading just a bit. "I'll not miss the nightmares and the fear that I'll snap one day and eat someone. I haven't succumbed to the call of the blood in some time, so I know I can live without the advantage in battle. The beast has been a part of me for a long time, true, but I've not liked it, and I'll be glad to be rid of it. I'm ready for it to be gone."

"In that case, brother," she said, taking his hand and squeezing her fingers tight around it, "I wish you the best of luck."


	12. Knowledge

4/23/14.  
**AN:** This chapter and the next take place over the course of "Practice Makes Perfect." I tried not to make it necessary to read that to understand what's going on, but if you've read it you can probably guess what's going to happen soon.

* * *

"Do you think she knows?" Oslaine asked as she grabbed her tankard of mead. Her eyes flitted to the pair training on the back lawn.

"Do you think _he_ knows?" Farkas responded, raising an eyebrow. "You see how she looks at him; you'd think he'd have figured out by now."

On cue, Ria knocked Vilkas to the ground with a swing of her sword. Her triumphant giggle resounded against the stone walls behind the mead hall, a brief display of pride before she offered her hand to help him up. The usually sour Nord just beamed at her, evidently pleased that the training was successful and that knowledge had effectively been passed from teacher to pupil.

Of course, from the way the pair had been acting lately, Oslaine and Farkas could both guess that the smile was from more than just pride. Farkas, always quick to pick up on his twin's mood, had noticed the changes first: the way Vilkas would grin whenever Ria's name was mentioned, the way he'd jump to defend the girl if someone implied she was anything less than a capable warrior. It had grown more obvious since Vilkas had rid himself of Hircine's curse. The two were rarely out of each others' sight for more than a minute, and he'd taken to training her on everything imaginable. In fact, in the quieter moments of the day, the two could be found knitting at one of the tables in the corner of the mead hall, him with one of his more complex scarves in hand and her with her beginner's swatch as he taught her the ways of the wool.

Still, they weren't romantically involved. From what the others said, Ria was still spending every night in the whelps' room, and the one time Farkas had thought to ask his brother what was going on he'd only received a confused stare in response. Apparently, everyone knew what was happening except Vilkas and Ria themselves.

"Aela tells me he's turning into a damned sap," Oslaine noted as she watched the pair start to spar again.

"Aela's wrong. He's not _turning_ into one. He's _always_ been one," Farkas replied. "I would know. He's my brother."

"You can't talk. You're a bigger sap than he he is."

"Hey!" Farkas feigned offense at the elf's giggle. "Keep up that talk and see if I still visit your quarters tonight."

"Forgive me," Oslaine responded, still smiling. He grinned back at her before the two returned their attention to the dueling warriors on the back lawn. She shook her head at her oblivious shield-siblings. "Look at them. They don't know a thing, do they?" She looked up at Farkas, who barked out a laugh in return.

"Smarts of Ysgramor, my ass."


	13. Denial

4/24/14.  
**AN:** Reminder that this takes place concurrently with "Practice Makes Perfect." You don't have to read it (though far be it from me to stop you), but be warned that the ending might seem a bit abrupt if you haven't (and maybe even if you have). From here on out things go at a much faster pace.  
**EDIT:** Added a bit at the end to make it a bit less abrupt. I wish I'd thought of that _before_ publishing it the first time around, but oh well.

* * *

The arrow stuck proudly out of the center of the target. The woman who had shot it was now beaming with glee, as her archery was obviously improving, and the woman training her gave her a smirk in return. There was no hiding how far the younger woman had come in terms of her competence in battle.

Vilkas, too, found himself smiling as he watched. Ria was no longer the clumsy thing that had first arrived at Jorrvaskr. She was strong, certainly a worthy warrior, and nothing seemed capable of crushing her spirit: not the Silver Hand attack, not the deaths of her fellow Companions, not even watching the newest member outrank her in a matter of weeks. Those had all been enough to cause him some grief as they'd happened (though, he admitted, the Dragonborn had proven to be an excellent Harbinger), but she'd picked herself up and kept going with the same optimism she'd always had. He found it inspiring.

A sudden clap on his back let him know he wasn't alone anymore. "See something you like, brother?"

The smile slid off Vilkas' face as he turned to glare at his twin, who looked like he was going bust out in laughter at any moment. "I don't know what you mean," he said as he grabbed at a bottle of ale.

"Maybe Skjor got it all wrong, then," Farkas mused as he took the seat next to him. "Maybe you didn't get Ysgramor's brains after all." When Vilkas snarled in response, his twin just laughed. "Come off it, Vilk. All I'm saying is that, for someone who's supposed to be smart, you can't see the obvious."

"I don't need to. That's what I have you for."

"Very funny." Farkas grinned as he picked up a bottle of ale for himself. "Look, all I know is that I don't think I've seen you this happy since we were whelps, and you're only like this when you see _her_." He pointed at Ria, who had just fired another successful arrow to the center of a target. As Vilkas's gaze followed to where his brother indicated, another smile crept on his face. "Admit it, Vilkas. You've got it bad."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You can deny it all you want, but you know I'm right. Gods, you spend enough time reading books and trying to solve puzzles. You'd think you'd be able to figure out something simple like how you feel about her."

Leave it to Farkas to call romance _simple_. "I've yet to find a book that teaches me how to woo a woman," Vilkas muttered beneath his breath.

"Ha!" Farkas beamed with triumph. "So I am right!"

Vilkas scoffed. "Not a chance."

His twin took a sip from his ale, as if the act of doing so would keep him from laughing. It didn't, and a bit of his drink spilled from his bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to clean it up. "You know, you're probably just reading the wrong books. Maybe you should try _The Lusty Argo_-"

"Stop!" Vilkas shot another glare at his brother, who was still clearly amused. "I'll kill you. I'll do it, I swear. Don't test me."

"Fine." Farkas raised his hands in defeat as he moved to stand from the bench. "But, uh, one last thing. _She_," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he pointed at Ria again, "listens to your speeches about history and manages to resist the urge to punch you at the end. She's even letting you teach her to knit. Don't ask me why, 'cause I can't tell you, but that girl's got it as bad for you as you have for her. If you've really got half a brain, you'll go after her, and you won't let her go, because I guarantee you can't find another one like her."

"I hear you. I'm admitting _nothing_," Vilkas said as he noticed his twin grinning, "but I hear you. Now, for the love of all things good, leave me alone."

"Whatever you say, brother." Farkas gave one last solid clap on his twin's shoulder as he left the back patio.

* * *

Three weeks later, on what might have been an otherwise mundane trip to clear out a cave of bears, Ria kissed him.

It was unexpected, to be sure, but Vilkas wasn't about to complain. He only wished it had lasted longer. They didn't discuss it afterwards, but there was no hiding the twinkle in Ria's eye when she looked at him, nor was there any chance they'd be going back to a simple relationship of mentor and student. It seemed there would be no more disguising what he felt.

Word of their budding relationship seemed to reach Jorrvaskr before they did. The next morning, Vilkas woke to a note sliding under his door. He immediately recognized Farkas' chicken scratch on the three short words that so effectively conveyed their message:

_Told you so._


	14. Wind

4/25/14**  
AN:** Edited this one after the fact. It was _way_ too abrupt (still kind of is), but I hope it's at least a little better. That's what I get for not using a beta, I suppose, but the point of this was to be a writing challenge, so I hadn't been too worried about it. After a suggestion from LadyDragon1316, I've put a bit of a summary in there so there's absolutely no need to read "A Knight In Shining Skyforge Steel" (though I certainly won't stop you from doing so). It's a lot longer now, but hopefully it makes more sense, _and_ it should be a better set up for the next few chapters.

* * *

It had been a long journey.

Vilkas had no problem facing danger, but he hadn't counted on three frost trolls showing up on the trip home, and he certainly hadn't counted on one of them knocking Ria out and himself having to drag her to Windhelm to find healing potions. The entire trip, she insisted she was fine, told silly stories, and tried to cheer him up, as though he were the one who'd been injured, not she. But no matter how much she spoke, and no matter how loudly the wind howled, he could only hear his heart beating frantically in his chest.

She _was_ fine, really, after they'd gotten a room at the local inn and he'd come back with a large number of healing potions from the alchemist, but that didn't stop him from replaying the situation over and over in his head as he looked at her. She could have died. That battle could have been her last. Shor's bones, _any_ battle could be her last. A small, completely irrational part of him feared that she'd died already, that this was only his imagination, a twisted dream designed to torture him.

But then she'd _hugged_ him, and he knew she was really still there.

Her touch awakened something in him: a need for her, an absolute and burning desire to know she wouldn't be disappearing anytime soon. It was one thing to see her and hear her voice, but another to be able to kiss her and hold her tightly to him. He couldn't let her go.

Somewhere, in the midst of all that fear and longing in his head, he'd ended up making love to her. It wasn't perfect by any means; it was desperate, sudden, and not what he'd hoped for her at all. But she didn't seem to mind, and, now, as they prepared to leave for Whiterun again, he couldn't help but watch her, admiring every move she made. Perhaps he'd propose. He certainly wanted to. Or, as the more rational part of his brain reminded him, perhaps he should wait, just a while, to give them both time to adjust to the idea of being something other than shield-siblings.

The chilly Windhelm air whipped around Vilkas' face as he stepped out of Candlehearth Hall. That same air blew Ria's hair around to the point where she may as well have left it exactly how it had looked when they'd first awoken. She'd tidied it once when she'd gotten out of bed, and again when she returned from the White Phial with a potion to keep any unwanted surprises from occurring, but one step outside was all it took to make her work for naught.

As he looked at her, a smile crept onto his face. Even without the wind returning her hair to its original state, he could still see the small mark he'd made on her neck as evidence of all they'd done the night before. She was absolutely beautiful.

When they reached the bottom step in front of the inn, Vilkas couldn't help himself. He brushed back the hair being swept into her face with the tips of his fingers, and then he leaned in to kiss her deeply. Gods, and she was delicious, too!

Ria was breathless when he finally pulled away. "If you keep doing that, it's going to take us a week to get back to Whiterun." The smile on her lips and the sparkle in her eyes belied her irritation.

"True," he admitted as his hands moved down to rub over her arms. "And, were we out for that long, I'd lose count of all the things I'd want to do to you, and I doubt the alchemist here has enough potion to get us through that." She blushed a faint tint of pink as he pecked another kiss to her mouth. "We'll just have to take a carriage, then. That way," his voice fell to a mere murmur as his hands dropped to her waist and his lips trailed to her ear, "I can kiss you all I want and not have to worry about the consequences."

An hour later they were in a carriage bound for home, and he kissed her to his heart's content, not minding the cold northern winds that blew around them.


	15. Order (Part 1)

4/26/14.  
**AN:** Again, this one got away from me. 1400 words is not a drabble. Also be warned: this is a two parter. The second part (for the prompt "Thanks") will be up tomorrow.  
Also, I've edited the last two chapters, so hopefully it makes more sense now.

* * *

The dragon's wings battered the air as the great beast descended over the plains outside Whiterun. From what Oslaine said as it approached, its green scales were a telltale sign that it wasn't a particularly dangerous one, and that, really, with five Companions up against it, they'd be fine.

Vilkas had trouble believing that.

Farkas and Oslaine charged forth, Farkas with his greatsword and Oslaine with her flaming warhammer. Aela had made her way around to the other side, firing off arrows with incredible speed. Vilkas, like his brother, had his sword drawn and ready to fight, and Ria was behind him, her hand reaching for the bow strapped to her back.

"Fall back, Ria," Vilkas cautioned.

A look of incredulity swept over her face as she turned to him. "No."

"Fall. Back." The words came through gritted teeth. "That's an order."

Incredulity became offense as Ria pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "I thought I was past getting orders from you in battle."

The dragon roared a fiery blast that narrowly missed the Harbinger and Vilkas' twin. "Look at that thing," Vilkas spat, "and tell me that fighting it is the same as fighting a bear. Now, do as I tell you and _fall back_."

"Why?"

"Because..." Vilkas trailed off as another sound came from across the field. When he turned his head to get a better look, he could at least see that his fellow Companions were relatively unharmed. Unfortunately, the dragon seemed just as well off. It flew towards the sky again, the flap of its wings echoing across the land. "There's no time to argue about this, Ria. Just run."

"No, Vilkas! _Why_?"

"Because I'm not going to lose you today!" he bellowed.

For half a moment, Ria just stared at him. As if they weren't in the middle of a battle, and as if there weren't a dragon flying round over their heads. As if this were about her fighting abilities and not his own damned insecurities. The beating in his heart almost drowned out the dragon's roar.

"You're right," she said slowly, and relief flooded over him. "There's no time to argue about this. Now, if you don't mind, I have a dragon to help kill." And the relief was gone.

With that, she grabbed an arrow from her quiver and searched the skies for the dragon. It hadn't flown far, and currently seemed to be focusing on an unfortunate deer that hadn't counted on being roasted alive that morning. Ria and Aela both fired arrows from a distance, and Vilkas begrudgingly admitted to himself that, had Ria listened to him just then, this dragon would be that much more difficult to kill, since he, Oslaine, and Farkas had all neglected to bring along bows.

The dragon turned from the burnt corpse of the deer and headed back towards the five Companions. Ria continued firing arrows, barely stopping in time to roll out of the way of another of its blasts.

"FO KRAH DIIN!"

Vilkas whipped his head around as Oslaine yelled the words in the direction of the dragon and ice erupted from her mouth. The dragon faltered as its power was drained. From the way its mouth moved, it was likely trying to shout back, to melt her as she froze it, but it was unsuccessful, as its last remaining energy was being consumed quickly by her spell.

For his part, Vilkas was stunned into place. He'd seen all sorts of things in his life. He'd thought he'd seen it all when he'd first taken the form of the beast, and then again when he saw his first dragon, and then more recently when he'd watched the Harbinger take down four members of the Silver Hand by shouting at them and knocking the over. But to see someone, particularly a small, slim Bosmer who often seemed like she wouldn't raise her voice to harm a flea, shout _ice_ out of her mouth to bring down a dragon... He really had just seen it all.

And, while he stood useless, Ria continued to fire arrows at the stunned dragon. Aela took it on from the other side. Perhaps Oslaine's shout had ended, but the effects on the dragon were lingering, and the beast seemed to have trouble staying in the air.

An arrow lodged in its throat, and it fell to the ground.

When Vilkas took another look at Ria, she was strapping her bow back over her shoulder with a pleased smile on her face. The realization dawned on him that she had killed the dragon. Not alone, of course; none but Oslaine could have possibly managed that (and Oslaine only could for the benefit of knowing the dragons' tongue), but Ria had dealt the killing blow.

And he'd told her to fall back.

Now he simply wanted to run to her and throw his arms around her, but he didn't think that was what she wanted at the moment. Not after the short argument they'd had in the midst of battle, and certainly not after the cold look she shot him while smiling at the others.

He watched quietly as Oslaine walked up to the dragon and the great winged beast dissolved in front of them. He trudged back to Whiterun in near silence as the others rejoiced in the kill, carrying bones and scales to sell off to Belethor later. He hoped that, in some bizarre way, his silence would atone for his yelling, brief as it had been.

It wasn't until they were back at the mead hall that he found his nerve again. He caught hold of Ria's arm before she could get through the door after the rest, and she stiffened in his grip.

"Am I not allowed to go back into Jorrvaskr, either?" she asked, her tone strangely cold.

"Ria," he said cautiously, "about earlier, I-"

"There's no need to explain yourself, Vilkas." Her voice was sharp, no hint of its usual warmth or calm present. He realized in that moment that he had never seen her angry. "I understand. There's an order here in the Companions, and it should be followed. You have your place in the hierarchy, and I have mine." She wrenched her arm from his grasp and made to open the door.

"Where are you going?" he pleaded.

"To the whelps' room, where whelps like me sleep."

"Ria, wait-"

But it was too late. She had dashed down the stairs, faster than him in her light armor, and he was left standing at the doors to the main hall. The other three members of the Circle stood near the fire pit, faces frozen in surprise. All of them seemed to be thinking the same thing; specifically, they seemed to be wondering what he could have possibly said or done to incite that reaction.

He ignored their stares as he stormed down the steps after her. She was quick enough that she'd managed to close the doors to the room and wedged something against them, making them impossible to move.

Vilkas took in a deep breath and knocked once, as politely as he could manage. "Ria?" he called, trying to keep his voice calm. "Ria, please, open the doors."

"And that's an _order_, is it?" From the direction of her voice, he figured that _she_ was the thing she had wedged against the doors.

"What are you doing?"

"Staying in my room, of course," came the sound of her voice, slightly muddier than the sharper-than-knives tone she'd had earlier.

"And do you plan on leaving your room?"

"No."

A muffled sob followed that word. Oh, _dammit_. She ought to have been upstairs celebrating with the others now. After all, it had been _her_ arrow that had felled the dragon, and she'd done a hell of a lot more than he had. Instead, she had shut the door to her room behind her and was currently crying her eyes out, because of him. Because he couldn't just keep his damned mouth shut.

If he could have kicked himself, he would have. Instead, he simply sat down on the floor in front of the door and leaned against it, hoping she could sense that he wasn't about to leave her. He tried to reorganize his thoughts, restore some of the former order. He'd have to, if he was going to get anywhere with her.

This was going to be a long night.


	16. Thanks (Part 2)

4/27/14.  
**AN:** Ha. Drabbles. Haha. Oops. _1800 words._ Part 2 of this little section.

* * *

Ria slouched forward over her knees as she wept. She hadn't cried like this in years, hadn't felt this sort of anger since she was a teenager. Usually, she tried to keep herself calm and focus on helping others do the same. And usually it worked.

But then he'd had to go and say _that_. As if her being at the battle didn't help at all, as if she wasn't ready to take on this sort of thing. If it had been anyone else, she might have listened, but it wasn't. It wasn't anybody else, it was _Vilkas_. Vilkas, who'd been her shield-brother on more jobs than anyone else and who knew exactly what she could do in battle. Vilkas, who'd trained her himself from her first day there. Vilkas, who'd grown closer and more important to her than any before him.

"Ria?" came his voice from the other side of the doors. "Please let me in."

"I am not going to open these doors, Vilkas, so, please, go away."

"What do you plan on doing when the others need to get in or out?"

Oh. She hadn't thought of that. "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. It'll be much easier if you just leave me be."

"I'm not going to do that, Ria." Oh, _damn_ him. "We need to talk."

"Well, you'll be having a very one-sided conversation."

"Damn it all, will the two of you _shut up_?"

Ria paused. That wasn't Vilkas. That voice came from inside the room Ria was sitting in, from one of the beds in the corner. It was angry, and feminine, and most likely paired with the heavy footsteps which were now rapidly approaching the spot where she sat.

A strong hand grabbed onto Ria's arm for the second time that night and pulled her from her spot. "There are people in here who would very much like to sleep, and who _can't_, thanks to you two and your little spat," Njada snarled as she lifted Ria to her feet. Her other hand reached for the door handle and threw the doors open, and Ria could only watch as Vilkas toppled backwards from where he'd been leaning. "The two of you can leave each other alone or talk it all out, and don't think I care which, but you should do it somewhere else, or I'll kill you both."

Vilkas quickly clambered to his feet as Njada shoved Ria out the doors and into his arms. "Thank you, Njada," he said.

"Yeah, yeah," the Nord woman replied irritably. "Go find someone who cares."

With that, Njada slammed the doors shut behind her, leaving Ria alone with Vilkas outside in the hall. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close, and she realized that there was really no chance of escape.

"Well," he said quietly, "if we don't want to irritate Njada more than we already have, then I guess you had better follow me."

"I don't suppose I have a say in the matter, do I?" she asked, her voice still tainted by her tears.

"Of course you do." He took a deep breath as his arms loosened. "You can go upstairs and celebrate the kill with the others, or you can talk things through with me. I don't think Njada will let you back in, though."

Ria considered what he said. It would be nice to celebrate, but her warpaint was almost definitely running down her face in streaks by now, and she supposed they'd have to talk sooner or later. "I'll follow."

"I'm glad." One of his arms dropped to the side while the other wrapped around her shoulder so they could walk down the hall towards his quarters.

"If you think I'm going to apologize for not listening-"

"I wouldn't dream of it," he murmured as he opened the doors to his room. "This is going to be my apology to you, if you'll accept it."

Vilkas motioned for her to sit down in the chair by his table, which she did reluctantly. Tears were still rolling down her cheeks against her will, though they'd slowed a bit. Her breaths fell heavy as she tried to compose herself.

"I suppose I should start with an explanation," he said as he shut the doors. "I had no business ordering you away from the battle. In fact, I ought to congratulate you on the fight. It's thanks to you that the dragon's dead." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair just once before walking back to her. "But I was frightened, and I panicked. I wanted to protect you, and I-"

"Protect me?" Ria's anger was slowly mixing with confusion, and she couldn't tell which of the two she felt more strongly. "I am a Companion, same as you. You don't need to protect me."

"I know." His voice was small, such a contrast to his usual demeanor. "But I want to, sometimes. It terrifies me to think something could happen to you. And I know that you are strong and you can handle yourself, but no battle has a guaranteed outcome, especially when dragons are involved. When I saw that dragon, I had the thought that you might end up in the way of its fire or get eaten alive."

"What am I supposed to tell you, Vilkas?" Her voice was rising, much to her dismay. Yelling wasn't something she wanted to do. But she couldn't control her emotions right now, and it crept into her voice, making some words seem choked and others come out as barely more than a squeak."I don't want to get eaten by a dragon anymore than you do, but this is a path I have chosen for myself."

"It is. I know it." His mouth twitched into half a smile as he paused. "Would you like to know what the most ironic part of this is?"

"What?"

"If you hadn't chosen this to be your lot in life, I would not have met you." He looked up to meet Ria's eyes, and she immediately looked away, knowing full well she'd blush. Not that her face could get any redder after she'd been crying, but at least she could afford herself some small semblance of dignity. "And I promise you I would not have fallen... would not have developed such affections for you if you weren't a capable warrior. Yet here I am, worrying myself to death over your safety. Every time we go into battle, I fear it will be the last."

She almost smiled. A small part of her wanted to, but it seemed like one emotion too many for that evening. "I wish you wouldn't," she said quietly, suddenly feeling very small. "If it were anybody but you..."

"Why not?" When she looked back up at him, the half-smile had disappeared, and his eyes were imploring, as though looking at her would make her magically understand. He wasn't angry; just sad, and heartbreakingly so "Why shouldn't I worry about you?"

"Because..." Her voice trailed a bit, and she could feel the sting of tears starting again. Damn it. "Because I thought we were past all this. I thought that you trusted me, and that we trusted each other. And I wouldn't have expected that of anyone else, because the others haven't seen what you've seen. I haven't been spending nights in their rooms. I thought that..." Through the heavy stream of tears, she was amazed she was still talking at all. "But then you had to go and tell me to leave, like I was some child who couldn't handle herself and you couldn't trust me to get out safely, and it felt like a knife in my heart-"

Her words broke off with a choked sob. Vilkas was at her side in an instant, pulling her up in his arms, stroking her hair reassuringly, pressing soft kisses to the top of her head. As angry as she'd been, she was thankful that he was still right there.

"I'm sorry, Ria," he murmured. "Gods, I'm so sorry." His arms tightened around her while her fingers clutched at his armor, trying to pull herself close enough that she could bury her face against him and wait for the tears to tide over.

"I trust you," he whispered, his lips pressed against her hair. "I just didn't trust the dragon not to eat you. When I worry, I worry because of everything else that could happen to you, but never because I don't trust that you'll fight well and honorably. In fact..."

He released her from his embrace to cradle her face in his hands, and suddenly she found herself looking straight at him, though the tears in her eyes still clouded her vision. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, collecting the tears as they fell and likely streaking the warpaint further. "I never really told you how well you did today. If you hadn't been there, we might not have been so successful."

Ria finally managed a small smile as she looked at him, though her lip was still quivering from all her weeping. "Thank you," she choked out, "and apology accepted."

Vilkas cracked a smile as his thumbs glanced over her cheeks again. "Would you like to go upstairs to celebrate now? You _did_ just kill a dragon, and I'm sure Aela, Farkas, and Oslaine would all be more than willing to have a toast in your honor. They're probably waiting for you."

"Is it alright if... can I just stay here?" she asked cautiously. "I must look a mess right now, and my head aches from all this crying. I feel exhausted." She sighed, making her point. "Could you maybe go up and tell them not to wait?"

"Of course," he said, his hands encouraging her face closer to him. "And I'd wager there are a few others who'd like to be a part of the celebration, anyways. Now, you go grab something from my dresser, and I'll go tell them to get their drunken asses to bed." He smiled before pressing a light kiss to her lips and leaving the room quietly.

After he'd shut the door behind him, Ria did as he said, and pulled a clean tunic from the dresser. As she put it on, she noted that it smelled like him, like soot and ale and pine. That scent of soot and ale and pine surrounded her as she crawled into his bed and waited for his return.

She wasn't sure when she'd fallen asleep, but, when she opened her eyes next, Vilkas was already asleep next to her, his arm lain over her protectively. She snuggled herself closer to his warm body, gratefully basking in the safety he offered.


	17. Look

4/28/14.  
**AN:** This is, without a doubt, the single cheesiest thing I have ever written. I would actually apologize for how cheesy it is, but, at the same time, sometimes I just need really sappy scenes of my OTP (this was never supposed to happen). Take this as your warning. Also, it's too long to be a drabble. Again. Oops. BUT this is also a pretty major plot development, so, for once, I think the word count is excusable.

* * *

Blood. Everywhere.

Oh, gods. Ria had known that this was all part of being a warrior, and usually she could stomach it, but usually the blood belonged to a beast, or a bandit, or even herself. Pain, she could handle. Cleaning up after a job well-done, she could do. Hells, the last time she'd gone on a job with Athis, her shield-brother ended up getting a nasty bite from a sabre cat and she'd more or less stitched him together before half-carrying him to Morthal to get him properly healed. She could handle that just fine.

But this was a bit trickier to deal with, as the blood in question was pouring out of Vilkas' shoulder.

They'd just been sent to clear out a tower in the Rift, and it was going rather well. The wolves and skeevers guarding the entrance died quickly, didn't even put up much of a fight. It was looking to be an easy job, one that Farkas could have told anyone to go on.

Farkas had neglected to mention the necromancers.

For the most part, the necromancers were spread from room to room, and it wasn't too difficult to take them out quietly, one by one, without alerting the attention of the others. It only took an occasional look at Vilkas' face to tell Ria that he wasn't fond of this job, as, to him, the only good warlock was a dead warlock. She couldn't fault him for that; from what he'd told her, he'd nearly become a sacrifice himself before he'd even had three winters, and it was from a necromancer's den that he and Farkas were rescued by Jergen.

They'd made it to the top of the tower, and neither of them were any worse for wear. Of course, as it was with every job, the most impossible necromancer seemed to be the last to be faced. And it might have turned out fine, if not for the reanimated wolf that managed to rip off one of Vilkas' pauldrons and the ice spike that was shot through him the moment after. He cried out in shock and pain as he fell to the ground.

No sooner had the ice spike been thrown than had Ria lunged at the witch, striking her sword straight through the woman's abdomen and thrusting upwards. The old crone choked out her last gasp of air before dying, and the animals she'd been casting spells on crumbled to dust as her heart stopped.

Ria ran to Vilkas' side, hoping that whatever happened, she wouldn't be too late. Why, oh, _why_ did she not pick up those healing potions she'd seen on the way up?

"Look at me," she whispered, clasping his face in her hands as she knelt beside him. For the first time, she fully understood what he'd meant when he said he feared every battle would be their last. "Keep your eyes open. Don't you die on me."

"Ria..."

"I'm right here. We need to get you a healing potion. Come on, I'll help you downstairs-"

"No," he rasped, shaking his head weakly. "Get it and bring it back. I'll slow you down."

"Vilkas, I'm not leaving you!" She tightened her grip, forcing him to look up at her. "Now, please," she said as she hiked his good arm over her shoulder, "we're going to get you one of those potions and then hopefully we'll find a healer somewhere nearby. On the count of three, okay? One, two..."

She lifted him up to his feet and winced at the groan he let out. Gods, he was heavy, due more to his armor than to his build. It was difficult to get him down the steps of the tower, as each step turned into more and more of a stumble. Maybe he was right, maybe she should have gone down without him, but she couldn't bear to let him out of her sight when he was in such a state, and who knew what else might have been lurking up there?

When they reached the bottom, Ria laid Vilkas down as gently as she could. He looked fragile, though she knew well that he was far from it. The ice spike had melted, more or less, but the damage had been done. The gash it left was deep, and she had the funny feeling that his armor would be forever discolored by all the blood.

She searched the room as quickly as she could, eyes on the lookout for the tell-tale red stem of a glass bottle. The moment she laid eyes on it, her hands grabbed for the neck of the phial, hoping it would be enough. She quickly scanned over the label, written in a messy cursive.

_Potion of Vigorous Healing_.

Oh, thank the Divines.

Ria rushed back to Vilkas' side. As soon as she managed to uncork the bottle, she worked to prop him up. His eyes had already fluttered shut.

"I always knew it would be necromancers," he groaned. "Damned awful way to go, if you ask me. Didn't even get the chance to..."

"You're not going to die." Ria's voice shook as she spoke, belying her confidence. "Come on. Eyes open. Look at me, Vilkas." She shook his head a bit so that he faced her while she raised the bright red bottle to his lips. Carefully, one drop at a time, she poured its contents into his mouth, hoping with all her might that he would swallow some of it.

The moments after the bottle had drained were among the longest of her life. The effect wasn't as immediate as she would have liked. It didn't seem as though the potion was mending anything at all, though, to be fair, it was difficult to see past the blood.

"Don't go," she whispered, as if saying it would make the potion work faster. Tears were forming in her eyes as she watched him take slow, haggard breaths in her arms. He couldn't die, he absolutely _couldn't_, not like this. Not in a tower so far from home, when their time together had only just begun. "Please don't die. I love you."

She waited.

And waited.

By Arkay, what she wouldn't have given for a sign.

And she got one.

She didn't even realize she'd been holding her breath until Vilkas gasped for air and she gasped with him. He lunged upwards as his eyes flew open and his hand clutched at her armor. His breathing was still ragged at best, and he was still covered in blood, but he was healed.

Ria nearly knocked him back over when she flung her arms around his neck. The hand of his uninjured arm patted her back reassuringly, as though _she_ were the one who had just nearly died and not the other way around. When she pulled away, there was a look of confusion in his eyes. She didn't waste time saying anything else before she kissed him, hoping it would explain everything that had flitted through her mind the past few minutes.

She broke off the kiss nearly as quickly as she had started it, and drew back just to look him straight in the eye. "I thought you were going to die. I just..." She trailed off, unsure of what to tell him. The roles here had finally been reversed. He had been in this sort of situation before, with her lying on the ground, in need of a healing potion, and reassuring him. Now it was her turn.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said quietly. Through all the tears budding down Ria's eyes, she could see his calm smile, and it soothed her. "I'll not die yet."

"But you said-"

"I know." His hand continued rubbing her back comfortingly. "But there are things I need to do before my time in this world is done."

The tears that had formed before were now rolling down her face freely. Hadn't he mentioned not having the chance to do something? "Like what?"

"Marry you."

Ria swore her heart stopped beating. Had he just said what she thought he said? She looked over his face, searching for some sign that this was a ruse, or an accident, or the potion talking, but she found nothing but honesty. In fact, from the look on his face, she figured he'd thought this through. Or, at least, he'd thought through that he was eventually going to propose marriage, and perhaps the blood and the near-death experience were a surprise that spurred on the inevitable a bit sooner than expected.

She leaned in to kiss him again, hoping that could provide her answer for her, and he kissed her back with equal passion, letting her know that her message was received. Her fingers tangled in his hair and pulled him closer, until she finally broke away for air.

"I take it you're interested, then?" he asked, leaning his forehead to hers. "I've no Amulet of Mara with me, I know, but I would be glad to stand by your side until the Divines take us, if you'll have me."

Ria nodded vigorously, smiling despite her tears. "Brief as life can be in Skyrim, at least we'll have each other."

He smiled back at her. Gods, did he smile. And he kissed her, slowly and sweetly. They must have been quite the sight, happily embracing and laughing despite her tears and his blood covering them, speaking of marriage while stuck in an abandoned tower filled with dead necromancers, but neither could bring themselves to care, because the other's presence was enough.

"It's a pity we can't kill two birds with one stone and head straight to Riften from here," Ria murmured when he pulled away. "Get you healed and stay around long enough to get married."

"What's stopping us?"

"Well, first, we do need to settle this job," she said matter-of-factly, or, rather, as close to matter-of-factly as she could manage with tears still in her eyes, "and then I don't think it would be fair to the others if they had to miss the wedding."

"Aye," he agreed, "I don't suppose it would be. That also gives me time to propose to you the proper way, amulet and all."

"I don't need proper," she said as she smiled again and another tear broke free. "I just need you."

There, in that deserted tower, a place plagued by death and undeath, happiness bloomed. Love and excitement, courage and commitment; all were present as the two lovers sat entwined on the cold stone floor. In spite of the carnage that surrounded them then and always, they could honestly say that, for now, the future looked nice.


	18. Summer

4/29/14.  
**AN:** I keep making Ria cry. I'm so sorry. This is the fourth chapter in a row where she cries. It's also the fourth non-drabble in a row. The next one is happy and actually a drabble, I promise. Also, once again, I am about to butcher music history for my own means (in this case, I'll be using "Sumer Is Icumen In").  
I'm also working on another piece about Ria's backstory, which goes into much deeper detail about the events mentioned here. This one was written _first_, so everything is explained as it should be and the works can be read independently of one another, but I'll also be publishing that here sometime soon. If any of this seems familiar, it's because I've already posted the first three parts of the backstory to the SKM.  
**Warning:** Brief mention of a fairly violent death of a child. Not really enough to send it up into the M-rated category, but I figured I'd warn, just in case.

* * *

Summer was always Ria's favorite season.

The flowers around Falkreath at that time were in full bloom, the sun would create patterns in shadows on the ground by the leaves of the trees, and the birdsong resonating through the woods seemed to be at its cheeriest. Every summer solstice held a festival, and every summer solstice festival commenced with Jarl Dengeir giving a speech in an old Nordic dialect, which always ended with the words, "Sumer is icumen in." Ria had never understood the rest of the speech, but she had memorized the last phrase and knew that it meant that summer had arrived, which in turn meant the end of spring and, with it, the season of bad memories.

When she was very little, she would join the other children in their loud songs and dances around the town. They would sing of the meadows blossoming, of the cows and ewes nursing their babies, of the goats farting. Their songs were out of tune and out of tempo, and their loud "cuckoo's" echoed through the air of the village with innocent enthusiasm in celebration of the warm season.

For the first time since she had joined the Companions, Ria found herself at the summer festival in Falkreath, but she wasn't the same person she'd been before. Now, her home was Jorrvaskr, she'd seen and even battled dragons, and a golden wedding band shone on her finger. Now, she wasn't running through the streets in celebration, though, to be fair, she hadn't done so in years. Instead, she stood solemnly in front of the cemetery with Vilkas' arm wrapped around her shoulder as she visited her family's graves for the first time since her parents' deaths.

"I wish they could have met you," she'd explained when she'd first told him she wanted to visit her hometown. "The Companions all got to come to the wedding, but my family didn't. It sounds silly, I know, but I feel like bringing you to see them would make it feel more like they were there."

Pontius and Maris' graves were still well kept, their stones in tact and their names not yet worn away by weather and time. They were still recent; it had barely been four years since they'd died and she'd run off not long after the funeral. People still visited from time to time, perhaps feeling a bit guilty about how the death.

Next to theirs was a grave far more forlorn, one that time had seemed to forget about completely. There were chunks missing from the stone, and a crack ran straight through the middle. Nereus' grave had been nearly abandoned to abject disrepair, his name beginning to blend with the bulk of the rock. The little boy that water took was all but forgotten by the little town.

"How did it happen?" Vilkas asked, his voice flat.

Ria took a deep breath. "Mother and father were on the road, and they'd been gone a week longer than they'd said they would be. Valdr found them, about a mile and a half off." Vilkas' arm squeezed her shoulder tighter to him as she recounted the tale. "I never found out for sure what got them, but bandits had looted their corpses by the time he found them."

"I'm sorry." He knew what it meant to never fully know what happened to one's parents. For him, he'd lost Jergen to a war he'd known next to nothing about, before he could even fully know what death meant.

"It's alright," Ria said quietly. "I got over twenty years with them."

"And who was Nereus?"

"My brother." Her voice was beginning to shake just a bit as she fought back tears. Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea after all. The pain had numbed over the years, but the guilt she felt over not coming back for so long stabbed the wound anew.

"You never mentioned a brother before." Vilkas thumb glided over her arm, reassuring her that he was still there.

"He died when I was just a girl," she said, feeling the first tear break free and roll down her face. "Mother took us to Lake Ilinalta for the day in the early spring. We'd been swimming with a few other children, and he went into a deeper part of the lake because he was a good swimmer. Mother told us not to, and I told him not to go that far, but he just said that what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her."

A child's voice rang out from the town. "Lhude sing cuckoo!"

Ria shuddered as Vilkas's grip on her arm tightened just a bit in anticipation. "I couldn't swim far enough to get to him when he started screaming. Mother jumped in without even taking her dress off, but she was too late."

"He drowned?"

Ria shook her head. "I don't know if it was the water or the slaughterfish that got to him first. Runil down at the Hall of the Dead figured that nobody could have survived those injuries. He had... well, he wasn't whole anymore."

Vilkas stiffened. "How old was he?"

"He'd just seen ten winters."

"How many had you seen?"

"Seven."

At that, Vilkas simply pulled her against him so that they stood chest to chest, one arm still wrapped around her shoulder as the other one cradled the back of her head. He simply held her there, comforting her with his embrace, letting her cry into his shoulder. "Gods, that's horrible. No one should have to witness that, least of all a child." Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ria knew he was thinking of Farkas in that position. For all he'd lost in his life, at least he'd had his twin.

"It's gotten better," she admitted, "thinking about it over time. It was scary at first. Now I just feel awful about not visiting the graves. Sometimes I think I've forgotten them altogether."

"They'd be proud of you, you know," Vilkas murmured, shifting just a bit to meet her eyes. "You've done well and fought honorably."

Ria curled her fingers against his armor. "I think they would like you," she said after a moment's thought. "Father would find you clever and Mother would call you handsome." For the first time since she'd arrived at the graveyard, Ria smiled. "And Nereus would like that you're a Companion. He'd always wanted to be one, too."

"Then he'd be doubly proud of you."

The summer breeze rustled the pine branches overhead, startling the couple standing in front of the graves. The sun peeked through in the spaces between needles, making little spots on the shadowed ground. A particularly large spot of sunlight emerged over the three stones. The names of Ria's family were illuminated in the shimmering gold light, and, somehow, in that moment, she felt as though they knew, and they agreed.

She rested her head against her husband's chest as she smiled in earnest. "They do like you. I can sense it."

"I'm glad. I would hate for you to have wed a man your family dislikes."

Another child's voice rang out from the town center. "Sing cuckoo, nu. Sing cuckoo!"

Ria looked up at Vilkas as she heard the singing again. "While we're here, you should see the festival. It's nice, really, even if Siddgeir doesn't put as much effort into it."

"Of course."

She took his hand as she led him away from the graveyard. The gentle winds of summer continued to blow through the town, the flowers brightly framed the path, and the voices of children echoed freely betwixt the houses and trees. As the newest round of the chorus sounded, Ria took a deep breath to sing along.

"Sing cuckoo, nu. Sing cuckoo!"


	19. Transformation

4/30/14.

* * *

The change wasn't immediate.

Ria didn't return to Jorrvaskr to find Vilkas hunched over with worry, nor did she return glowing and emotional. To those who didn't know exactly what was going on, it would seem as though nothing at all had happened except for a quiet trip to the Temple of Kynareth. Despite not being the most popular with Danica and the acolytes, the Companions were frequent patrons of the Temple, finding themselves injured on a semi-regular basis.

Of course, anyone in Jorrvaskr already knew what was going on. They all knew that this was the fourth trip in as many weeks that Ria had made to the temple, and that it was planned. In this case, her return from the temple was a cause for celebration, at least for the pair of them.

The only thing that had changed distinctly after this particular visit was that Ria could say with absolute certainty that she was with child.

There had been a few subtler changes in the months before. Ria had stopped drinking with the others, opting only for the teas Tilma brewed. Vilkas had stopped complaining about the wailing down the hall from Farkas and Oslaine's newborn daughter, Ulva. And, though seemingly unrelated, Aela had become increasingly irritable, as she had lost not only a drinking buddy but also someone to sympathize with on mornings after Ulva had woken the whole of Jorrvaskr with her bawling.

More quiet transformations took place over the following months. Small things. Large things. Things that fell somewhere in the middle. Ria spent all of her days in Whiterun, mostly in Jorrvaskr, with select time at the temple, and less time still in the market. Her belly grew large, she stopped wearing her usual warpaint, and her diet incorporated more and more sweet rolls. Vilkas started knitting and reading more than ever, doing what he could to prepare for the child. His eyes were bloodshot more often, the mark of a night's restless sleep as he worried about parenthood and his wife's health.

They weren't the same people they had been those few short years ago. They were no longer the surly werewolf who lashed out at everyone and kept almost entirely to himself or the over-enthusiastic and under-prepared young thing that had arrived at Jorrvaskr with naught but a rusted sword to her name. He had grown more calm and patient, though he still had his days of irritability, and she more cautious and focused, though her former childlike naivety occasionally filtered through.

But the biggest change, the biggest transformation of all, occurred the day the child was born. Overnight, it seemed, their favorite activities fell to the wayside, replaced entirely by the joy of holding their daughter in their arms.


	20. Tremble

5/1/14.

* * *

She was so small.

Vilkas found himself shaking slightly as he looked at the little girl sleeping in his arms. Only a few hours old, and already he found himself hooked, entranced. There was no way on Nirn that something so beautiful, so _perfect_, could in any way be related to him.

A yawn from Ria distracted him from his gazing. "You love her already, don't you?" she asked with a smile. She was still laying back on their bed, exhausted from the excitement the day had already brought.

"Aye," he murmured in agreement. "You did a good job making her."

"Yes, _we_ did."

"You did most of the work."

"Well, you helped. That's something." Ria let out another yawn as she beckoned Vilkas over with a shaky hand. "I'd like to look at her, too."

Vilkas smiled as he walked over and took a seat on the edge of the bed, holding their daughter's head up for his wife to see. "She looks like you."

"She's a newborn, dear," she told him. "She doesn't look like anyone yet."

"Well, you didn't see her eyes. They're the same color as yours are." He gazed down at her again. Tears formed behind his own eyes, and he let out a sigh. "She's beautiful."

Ria pulled herself up so that she was seated and leaning against his shoulder. "Aye. She is."

"Just like her mother."

The little girl in his arms stirred just a bit, eyes fluttering and mouth twisting. One of her hands unfolded and reached out. Whether she was doing it for contact or to stretch, Vilkas didn't know, but she relaxed almost immediately when Ria placed a finger in her palm. She grasped and released a few times, feeling her mother's skin and letting go on instinct.

"We never settled on a name," Ria murmured. "What had we thought of, again?"

Vilkas racked his brain for a moment. "Nadetta, Daciana, Mafalda, Ursula-"

"That's it!" Ria exclaimed, startling their daughter just a bit. The girl's arms trembled as she reached out wildly, searching for something else to grab hold of to get her through the shock of the noise. "Ursula," she said, softer now, "that should be her name." Her hand wrapped around that of the little girl as she smiled. "She looks like an Ursula, don't you think?"

"She's a newborn, dear. She doesn't look like anyone yet." Vilkas grinned when his wife stuck her tongue out at him. "Aye, though. It's a good name for her."

"Ursula," Ria cooed. The laugh she let out was shaky, tempered with emotion and exhaustion. "What do you think she'll be?"

"Maybe a good, strong Companion, like her mama and papa."

"Maybe. Or maybe she'll move away to Solitude and join the Bard's college."

"Perhaps." Vilkas smiled as he moved his hand to nuzzle a finger to the girl's nose. "I'll be proud of her no matter what."

"No matter what?" Ria perked her head up a bit. "And if she runs off to join the Thieves' Guild?"

"Then I'll proudly say that it's been our daughter who's been pulling off those great heists- _after_ I've given her a stern talking-to, of course."

"Of course." His wife sighed as she relaxed against him again. "Vilkas?"

"Hmm?"

"You're trembling." He could feel her smile against his shoulder. "Are you frightened?"

"Terrified," he answered, and honestly at that, while the newborn in his arms continued to grasp at her mother's hand. "I'm happy, believe me. I haven't ever been this happy in my life, but I'm also scared out of my wits. She's the most perfect thing I've ever laid eyes on, and I fear I'll blunder. How can I expect to be a good father to her when I don't even know what a good father ought to be like?"

"Vilkas?"

"Yes?"

"I'm scared, too." One of her arms wrapped around his back as she pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder. "I'm happy and scared all at the same time. But I think we're going to be alright. We're not alone in this. We've got each other. We've got the Companions. We'll be just fine. And you know what else?"

"What?"

"You'll be the best father. I can already tell."

Vilkas could only smile as she squeezed her arm around him. Maybe she was right. Maybe they would be just fine. For now, at least, they were happy, and, for now, nothing else seemed to matter at all.


	21. Sunset

5/2/14.

* * *

The sun was setting over the western wall of the city as Ria climbed the steps to Jorrvaskr. Divines, did it feel good to be home.

It hadn't been a long trip. She'd only been gone a couple days with Njada, on a short journey to Hjaalmarch to clear out some frostbite spiders from a cavern. But it was the first trip she'd taken without Vilkas in quite some time, and the first she'd taken at all since Ursula's birth. It felt longer than anything she had ever experienced.

Now, though, she was home, where she belonged, and with a decent bit of gold to boot. Oh, how odd it felt to think that she belonged at Jorrvaskr, rather than out in battle! She'd worked so hard to become a warrior, and she still certainly enjoyed the thrill of the fight, but now something called to her about the mead hall. Perhaps it was the familiarity; perhaps, the security. More likely, though, it was that there were a couple of select people who waited for her within those walls.

The dying sunlight basked the front of Jorrvaskr in a warm glow as she pushed the doors open. It was as though the sun itself knew what a gift it was to be back. The outdoor light gave way to illumination from the fire pit when the doors shut behind her again.

The mead hall was quiet, a lull between the end of training and the evening meal. Little happened at this time of day, save for the odd Companion sipping a mead or helping with preparation for dinner. Ria spared a "hello" to Tilma before she made her way down the steps, to the cold stone hallway where she expected to find the two she was currently looking for.

When she reached the doors to her quarters, she was greeted only by the sound of a gentle snore. She pushed the doors open ever so slowly, trying not to make them squeak as she peeked her head in.

Sure enough, Vilkas was leaning back in a chair, almost at a straight diagonal, with his head thrown back and his legs stretched out in front of him. His arms clutched their sleeping daughter to his chest, angled just so that she wouldn't slip away, though how much longer she would last like that, Ria wasn't entirely sure.

Without making a sound, Ria carefully maneuvered her daughter out of her husband's arms. Really, she thought as she carried the girl to the room across the hall, it was quite a feat that she managed not to wake either of them in the process, and, if she were being honest, she was rather proud of herself. That Ursula didn't wake up even as she was placed in her cradle was even more of a feat, as sometimes it seemed as though the cradle was the one place the girl wouldn't sleep.

She snuck back into her own room. Vilkas hadn't stirred an inch. Ria couldn't hold back a smile as she gazed at him, his form completely relaxed and a small line of drool making its way from the corner of his mouth.

Indeed, he didn't move a muscle until Ria walked over to him to nudge a lock of hair behind his ear and press a kiss to his forehead. His eyes fluttered open at the contact, and, from the sudden movement of his arms, Ria could guess what he was thinking.

"Ursula's in her cradle," she murmured, and he relaxed again immediately. "No worries."

"Back so soon?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

"Mmhmm." She smiled at him as he stretched his back and sat up. "She must have tired you out. It's not even twilight, and you were sleeping like a log."

"Don't be ridiculous," he muttered. He stood up slowly, vertebrae cracking as he did. "Well, I may have dozed a bit. She's got a lot of energy."

"How tired are you, exactly?" Ria asked as his arms circled her waist. "It's only just sunset. Tilma might be another hour with supper."

A smile flitted across his face. "Not tired at all. In fact," he said, his voice dropping and sending shivers down her spine, "after that nap, I might need to do something if I want to stand a chance of sleeping tonight."

Before he could lean in to kiss her, she pushed him away. "Good, because Njada spent the whole trip complaining that Athis wasn't a good sparring partner anymore. I was hoping you might be able to train him a bit."

Vilkas let out a growl as he pulled her against him again. Whatever else Ria had to say was lost as he kissed her hungrily, and not another word was heard from either of them until the sun had set completely on the city of Whiterun.


	22. Mad

5/3/14.

* * *

He'd thought this temper of his had gone away when he'd rid himself of the beast blood. It had, to an extent. For a couple of months after Vilkas' journey to the Tomb of Ysgramor, he felt almost nothing like he used to. He was less prone to outbursts, and whatever grudges he developed went away nearly as quick as they appeared.

But, much to his disappointment, the temper didn't disappear altogether. One day, after a particularly tiresome training session with Torvar, Aela managed to push every single one of Vilkas' buttons, as Aela had always been wont to do. In response, he'd yelled at the both of them and took to his room, refusing to speak to anyone but Farkas or Ria for a whole day.

Old habits die hard, he supposed.

Vilkas hadn't yelled just now. He'd managed to get by with a quiet "dammit" and a relatively short chastising. He wasn't unnecessarily harsh, he thought. He wasn't loud; he didn't feel the urge to knock his fist to the wall; he didn't even stomp on his way out (though, to be fair, doing any of these would have surely woken Farkas and Oslaine's newborn daughter just down the hall, and that was more than enough incentive to keep calm). He'd simply spared a curse or two and shooed his daughter out of the room before he stole upstairs to the mead hall, and there he glowered in the corner as he nursed a mead.

This wasn't an overreaction, really. He'd been working on that project for the better part of a month, and now half of it was lying unraveled on the table in his room. But Ursula didn't know that. Ursula just saw the yarn and tugged until Vilkas caught her. By that point, the shirt he'd been knitting was all but ruined.

He didn't shift from his spot when Ria sat down next to him. "Do you know what Ursula just said to me?"

"What?" he growled.

"After you came up here, she teetered over to me with tears all in her eyes," Ria said slowly, almost comically so, "and she said, 'I just wanted to play with the pretty string and Da got mad at me.'" Her voice rose in pitch as she mimicked their daughter's words.

"I did not!"

"Well, you seem mad now."

"I am not!" he nearly yelled, and Ria raised an eyebrow at him. He tried to collect himself, and repeated himself, softer this time. "I'm not. I'm simply... _frustrated_." He sighed, his eyes focusing in the bottle of mead in his hands.

"I know." When he looked back at her, she was smiling at him. "I've seen you mad, and this isn't it. I sat her down and explained that she isn't to touch things that don't belong to her without asking first. Of course, I'd told her that before, but she seemed to think that only went for sharp things. Oh, and, before you ask," she added, placing a reassuring hand on his knee, "she's with her aunt and her cousins, and I moved your knitting to a higher shelf, where she couldn't reach."

Vilkas drew a deep breath. "Thank you."

"What was it?" Her hand had moved to his back, where it now rubbed calming circles.

"A pullover shirt."

"Really?" Ria paused. "It was a bit small- _oh_." The calming circles resumed. "It's for her, isn't it?" Vilkas could only manage a nod in response before he took a sip of his mead. "At least you know she thinks the string is pretty."

"But she'd rather unravel the damned thing than wear it."

"Oh, don't be like that." Ria laughed, a quiet chuckle that barely registered with his ears. "She'll love it. It'll be a perfect gift from her da." She leaned in closer, knocking her shoulder to his and eliciting a smile from him as well. "You know she adores you, don't you? Whenever you read to her or play with her, she comes to me and tells me all about it. Even when she doesn't know what the books mean, I think she just likes hearing your voice."

Vilkas sighed, and his smile grew. "I'll start picking up the lost stitches tonight, then."

"I'm glad."

The two sat in silence for a minute as Vilkas finished his mead. He loved moments like that, he really did. He loved talking to his wife, of course; there were few people he could speak with at the same level on which he spoke with her. But it was nice, at times, to just sit by her side, barely touching, just close enough to be aware of her presence.

"You should go down and talk to her," Ria said after a few minutes. "Tell her you aren't mad."

Vilkas grinned as he stood up. "I couldn't truly be angry with her, you know."

"Oh, I know. She, on the other hand, doesn't." She took his hand as he offered it to her, standing up next to him. "Go on down, tell her how much you love her. Read her a story."

And he did.


	23. Thousand (Part 1)

5/4/14.  
**AN:** Another two parter. The next part (with the prompt "Outside") will be up tomorrow.

* * *

"Da?"

Vilkas looked down at the little girl who had just called for him. She looked just like her mother: the same pointed nose, the same tan skin, the same pale brown eyes looking up at him. Indeed, the only thing that suggested he had any part at all in making her was the mop of dark hair atop her head, which may also have passed for Ria's if not for the sheer thickness of it.

"Da, Ulva says the Companions are four _thousand_ years old," Ursula said as she tried to clamber onto the bench next to him. Her speech skills were still developing: her _r_'s sounded like _w_'s, _th_'s sounded like _t_'s, some consonants disappeared completely, but she wasn't difficult to understand, at least to him.

"Ulva's right," he said as he reached for her, ending her struggle and seating her on his knee.

Ursula's eyes widened, almost comically. "Really?"

Vilkas smiled and nodded. "Really."

"Wow," his daughter breathed. She seemed to be in complete shock. Honestly, it wasn't that important of a fact, but he supposed, to a girl who'd only just seen three winters, it might be astonishing. "You're _extremely_ old."

Oh.

So _that's_ what she thought. Vilkas couldn't keep him self from laughing, much to his daughter's evident dismay, judging by the frown on her lips and the crease in her brow. "Aye," he said as he tried and failed to compose his laughter. "Aye, that I am."

"Is ma that old, too?"

"Well, she's a Companion, isn't she?" An idea sparked in his brain, and his smile grew. "You ought to go ask her yourself."

"Okay!"

Vilkas helped her down and watched she ran off to the stairs, where, after a stern look from him, she slowed down and grabbed hold of the handrail. He almost wanted to follow her, just to see Ria's reaction, but this was too good. Picturing it would be enough for now, as his presence might ruin the moment.

Not even five minutes had passed when Ursula peeked up from the top of the stairs and teetered towards him again. "Ma told me to send you down."

Of course she did. Vilkas grinned to himself as he walked down the stairs, leaving his daughter to run off to one of the other Companions and see what they would tell her. For his part, he knew that he was in for an earful.

He slowly nudged the door to his room open and closed it behind him again. When he walked around the screen separating the entry from the bed, he found Ria laid out in repose, the same way she'd been spending quite a bit of her time the past couple of weeks (and which, if what Danica told them was correct, would be over within the week). She glared at him, but the grin on her lips belied her anger. "You look lovely for four thousand," he said, his words obscured by his chortle.

"Thank you," she said with a sweetness that only made him laugh harder. "You should hope I do. Women my age have trouble with childbirth."

Vilkas smiled as he took the seat next to her. "Any day now, you'll be the oldest woman in Skyrim to give birth. That's quite an accomplishment."

"Aye." She smiled back at him when he laid one hand on her swollen belly. "Any day now. I feel like I'm about to burst. Maybe you'll have to go fetch Danica this afternoon."

"Maybe. Maybe you're just going to give birth to a big, strong boy."

"Or a big, strong girl." She laid her own hand over his, lacing her smaller fingers through his large, calloused ones. "Maybe both. I look about a thousand times bigger than I did last time. And I have been having odd dreams this whole pregnancy, where we have Ursula and two little boys. I've never placed much stock in dreams, but... Well, you never know."

"Four thousand or not, if you give birth to twins, I'll be very impressed," he said gently before leaning down to press a sweet kiss to her lips.

Within the next day, Vilkas found he was, indeed, very impressed.


	24. Outside (Part 2)

5/5/14.

* * *

It was just past midnight when Ria woke him up.

Her voice was tinged with urgency, though Vilkas had difficulty understanding her at first. But, soon enough, he was clambering out of bed, grabbing for a shirt and shoes. He didn't care much about how he looked beyond that; it wasn't as though many people were going to see him, and even if they were, he was wearing enough to be decent.

He spared a moment to wake Tilma and send her into their room to watch his wife while he was out. He wondered briefly if this was really a good choice, as Tilma had gotten rather old, but he didn't really feel as though he had enough time to do much else before he darted up the stairs and out of Jorrvaskr.

The Whiterun air was cool at this time of night, probably enough to drive any sane person indoors, but it didn't bother him much. This was urgent. For this, he'd walk through the Pale barefoot, if he had to.

"It's time," he nearly shouted as he flung upon the doors to the Temple to Kynareth. He must have looked the part of a madman as he burst in at that time of night, clad only in enough to cover him, with his hair windswept across his face. "It's Ria. She's started." Danica jumped up from where she'd been sitting across the room and followed him back outside, past the restored Gildergreen, up the steps to Jorrvaskr.

When he reached his quarters, Tilma was kneeling beside Ria, whose face was contorted with pain. For what felt like an eternity, he sat watching her, helpless to come to any idea that might relieve her of what she was feeling. Eventually the pain left her face, and she was left panting and sweating.

"Dear," she said between breaths, "You know how I joked yesterday about the possibility of twins? I'm beginning to think- _aagh_!" Her face contorted with pain again, only briefly, before she tried to compose herself and speak again. "I think I may have been right. Gods, it feels like they're fighting already."

This seemed to pique Danica's interest. "Twins?" Her eyes darted back to Vilkas, who felt remarkably like a petrified rabbit. "Please, go back to the Temple and fetch Jenssen. We'll need more help this time."

And, once again, Vilkas was outside, running through the Winds District in the cool night air and running back again with a startled acolyte at his heels.

This time, when he returned, nearly all of the Companions were standing outside his quarters, having been awoken by the excitement of him running back and forth through the hall. Danica seemed to have kept others from coming in, putting the Harbinger on a guard duty of sorts as she awaited his return.

"Nobody who isn't a healer, a husband, or Tilma is allowed inside," Oslaine told them all as Vilkas approached. "That includes you, Farkas."

"But he's my brother!"

"Dear, there won't be enough space for the baby if you join them."

Vilkas barely had enough time to spare a smile at the exchange as he rushed past the Bosmer woman and into his quarters, where he could sit at his wife's side. If it was twins, as Ria seemed to think it was, she was going to be in a lot of pain. Goodness knew what his _own_ mother must have gone through when he and Farkas were born.

The next few of hours felt unbearably long, but Vikas knew that this was much faster than Ursula's birth had been. The most he could do was sit by Ria's side as Danica and Tilma tended to her, let her squeeze his hand when she felt pain, and endure her curses to the gods. Danica checked her constantly, seeing if she was ready, making sure she wouldn't be in any danger. She'd been the picture of perfect health thus far, but the entire room had grown nervous the moment she had mentioned _twins_.

The first one came out with ease, or, rather, what Danica called ease. Vilkas expected Ria might disagree with that term. The minute the child emerged, Vilkas wanted to hold it, to see how their child looked in his arms, but he needed to be by his wife's side again in a matter of minutes for the _second_ child.

And then it was over.

After nine long months, two healthy boys were born, finally out of his wife, much to her relief. And, somehow, she was none the worse off for it. She was tired, of course, and he'd have been a fool to think she wouldn't be, but she wasn't in poor health, which was more than many could say. She could hold one of their newborn sons in her arms, while Vilkas held the other. It was hard to tell the two apart for now, except that the one in Ria's arms was wrapped in a green blanket and the one in Vilkas' arms was wrapped in a blue blanket. They supposed it would take a while to learn the differences.

Vilkas only had about an hour with Ria and their new children before he decided to walk out again to tell the others the good news. Most of the others had dispersed, gone back to bed or off to train, if they so fancied, but his brother and his sister-in-law sat in the hallway.

"Ursula's upstairs with Ulva," Farkas briefly explained before his eyes settled on his nephew. "Is that...?

"Aye. Your nephew." Vilkas smiled as Farkas and Oslaine both moved to take a closer look. "Everyone's good and healthy."

"Good." Oslaine gazed at the boy and reached a finger out to nuzzle his nose. "He's a beautiful child, Vilkas."

"He is. And his brother is, too."

Judging by the way Farkas and Oslaine's jaws went slack, Vilkas guessed they hadn't heard all the commotion from the room and had assumed that the reason _two_ healers were needed instead of one was some unrelated health concern. It wouldn't be unthinkable; after all, Ria wasn't a large woman, and giving birth to a child that was half-Nord would be difficult for even the sturdiest mother.

"There's _two_?" Farkas asked when he found his voice.

"I'll tell you what," Oslaine said as she nudged her husband in the ribs. "Having carried two Nord children from this fellow here, I don't think I'd have liked to carry both at the same time. Please, tell your wife I don't envy her position."

"Two of them," Farkas just mumbled again, as though, of all the things to have stumped him, _twins_ that weren't him and Vilkas would be the most confusing idea of all. "What'd you name 'em?"

"This one," Vilkas said, raising the child in his arms just a bit, "is named Hallbjorn, and his brother is Oberon."

"Strong names for strong children," the Harbinger mused. "I'll bet Ria's exhausted."

"She is. I should go back in to speak with her and healers." Vilkas sighed. He hadn't gone through childbirth himself, obviously, but it wasn't even noon, and already he felt more tired than he'd been in years. "And then I suppose I should get Ursula. She should meet her brothers."

"She doesn't know yet. She can always wait until her mother's rested a bit." Oslaine just smiled as she shooed him back towards his quarters. "We'll wait outside with her until you're ready." Vilkas muttered his gratitude before he headed back into his room, where Ria awaited him.

When his wife got her rest, and Ursula came in to see, Vilkas was finally surrounded by his family, the way it was supposed to be. Had he been an outsider looking in, he might have imagined that it couldn't have been him, for he was never allowed to be this happy. But he was no outsider here, and this slice of happiness was truly meant for him.


	25. Winter

5/6/14.  
**AN:** I promise this is the absolute last time I introduce another kid into the story. Jorrvaskr's got its hands full.

* * *

Winter in Whiterun was nearly as nice as summer in Falkreath, in Ria's opinion.

When the ice glazed over the streets, the children would play and glide around, as children were wont to do. Oberon and Hallbjorn were too young to do much, of course, apart from staying bundled up in the clothes their father had knit them, but Ursula had taken to the ice with her older cousin along with Lucia, the orphaned girl who had been taken in by Aela and the Companions only two summers before.

For her part, Ria was sitting on the back lawn of Jorrvaskr, enjoying the snow and watching her two young sons take to it like fish to water. Despite the frigid air, they were warm, snugly tucked into their winter garments and, of course, blessed with the benefits of Nord blood. They patted at the mound of snow she was working at, smiles spreading across their chubby little faces.

"What've you got there?" Vilkas called as he strolled out to the back lawn to watch. "What is it?"

"_It_," Ria said, a smile spreading across her own face, "is a snowman."

"Is it really?" Her husband squinted at it from his spot beneath the awning. "It hasn't got a head."

"We're just getting started on the bottom, aren't we?" She smiled down at her sons, who giggled as they continued slapping the rounded mound of snow. "It'll have a head soon enough, and when it's finished someone can use it for target practice."

"A single hit would decimate it."

"Don't be a spoilsport." Ria turned back to stick her tongue out at him. "Maybe someone can practice archery. Besides," she said, pausing to wrap her arms around the boys on either side of her, "I think they'd like watching the snow fly everywhere. Wouldn't you, boys?"

Her voice became even warmer and more melodic as she addressed her sons. It had been the same way when Ursula was their age, but that was where the similarities between the children stopped. Where Ursula looked like her mother, the boys seemed to take after their father, though, to be fair, their facial features could still mostly be described as "pudgy" and didn't much look like anything. But it was no wonder Tilma often slipped up and called them Farkas and Vilkas: they had their father's same silver eyes, the same coarse hair that flopped about when they bounced.

"You should come join us," Ria called to her husband. "While Oberon and I work on the body, you and Hallbjorn can make the head."

Vilkas merely laughed as he strode over. "Alright, then." He took a seat in the snow next to his son, who giggled and clapped his hands together.

Ria watched as Hallbjorn and Vilkas played, patting snow into an ever-growing ball and laughing. This Vilkas was a far cry from the Vilkas she'd met when she'd first come to Jorrvaskr, the Vilkas who had grumbled about snowflakes only being good for rusting swords and ruining training sessions._ This_ Vilkas laughed along with his son, played with the children who resembled him so closely, and saved his complaints for rainy days.

Of course, she loved him regardless of his sour days. Sometimes she would even say that she loved him _because_ of his sour days, because it made his cheerier moments all the sweeter. She loved him whether he scowled or not, but it was nice knowing how to make his scowl disappear for a moment.

It was almost surreal watching him now, with the little boy who looked _so much_ like him- really, the resemblance was surprising. She never would have imagined it before, but it was as if she were watching two different versions of the same man: the young one, naive and open to the world and fully believing it was his to take, and the older one, world-wearied and sometimes frightened but slowly learning once again that the world had good things in store for him. Two ends of the same timeline, with a chunk missing from the middle where tragedy and lycanthropy caused grief to mar his features.

Vilkas' voice woke Ria from her reverie. "You're staring, love."

"Am I?" Ria smiled as she went back to patting the mound of snow in front of her. "I just never would have thought I'd see the day you'd play in the snow, is all."

"I did as a boy," he said casually, grinning. "Farkas liked building snowmen, and he was my brother, so I would help him."

"Well, now that you say that, I can see it." Ria pulled Oberon out of the snow and seated him in her lap. "I bet you looked just like these two boys right here," she said as the little boy let out a shrill laugh. "Well, maybe not _just_ like them. I still have trouble imagining you giggling."

"Fair enough," Vilkas said as he continued to shape snow into a ball and Hallbjorn continued to pat it aimlessly.

It took only a short while before the snowman was completed, though, admittedly, two toddlers hitting at the balls of snow didn't much help the process. The figure was nearly as tall as Ria by the time it was finished, and was covered with tightly packed lumps that probably couldn't be said to resemble much of anything, but that didn't seem to bother the boys, nor did it bother Ursula, who had returned from sliding through the streets with Lucia and Ulva.

And it took even less time for the thing to be destroyed, in a beautiful display from Vilkas. With a swing of his greatsword (and with a rather lengthy explanation of the technique with which he held it, to which only Lucia politely feigned interest), he decapitated the snowman. Oberon and Hallbjorn both giggled and clapped excitedly as snow flew out every which way. Ursula, too, cheered at the sight.

Perhaps it wasn't the winter that Ria liked so much after all. Perhaps it was the contrast, the bitter cold days making the warmth of the hearth and of her husband's arm wrapped around her all the more pleasant, the effort of building a snowman making the process of destroying it all the more satisfying, the dying plants making the thriving family around her all the more beautiful to look at.

Whatever it was, winter was becoming, quite possibly, Ria's new favorite season.


	26. Diamond

5/7/14.**  
**

* * *

The ring sparkled in the dying light of the fire pit. It wasn't a large thing, just barely fitting Ria's finger, nor was it particularly extravagant. It did, however, have a small diamond encrusted in it, which threw light around as she looked it.

It had been a gift of sorts, a mark of good faith from the Temple of Mara at her wedding. Back then it had been plainer still, a normal bronze band with little else to it. Ria didn't mind at all; in fact, she rather liked that it was so unassuming, but Vilkas insisted that they have it embellished. Perhaps "insisted" was the wrong word. It was more that he _suggested_ it, and it only took one look at him for her to agree. He wanted it to be perfect, as if it would prove something to her and the world, and, though she never once doubted his love, she knew it would make him happy, and, really, her mother would have rolled over in her grave had she turned down a diamond, of all things.

Ria smiled as she examined it now. She leaned further into Vilkas' embrace from where they sat on the floor of the mead hall, in one of the rare quiet moments when all three of their children slept. It was late enough that the rest of Jorrvaskr had gone to bed, but Ria just wanted to enjoy her husband's embrace for a little while longer.

Vilkas pressed his lips to her hair. Gods, she would have never imagined that the strong, surly warrior she'd met on her first day in Jorrvaskr could have been so tender, and she _certainly_ hadn't guessed she'd marry him.

"Do you remember our wedding?" she asked suddenly.

He laughed just a bit as he drew away. "Like it was yesterday," he murmured. "It was one of the happiest days of my life, though I don't believe I'll ever understand why you agreed to it."

"I can think of a few reasons." She rested her head against her husband's shoulder. "It was one of the happiest days of my life, too."

"Can't imagine why," he said softly, with just the tiniest hint of his laughter still tainting his voice.

She might have been worried by the words, but she knew his honest self-deprecation from his sense of humor, and this was definitely the latter. Slowly, she turned herself a bit in his embrace to face him, gently laying her hand on his chest. "Well, you're passionate-"

"Moody."

"-and intelligent-"

"Know-it-all, if you ask Farkas."

"-and strong-willed-"

"Bossy, more like it."

"-not to mention devilishly handsome-"

"Well, I'll not argue that one."

"-and I love you." She smiled as he squeezed her tighter. "My mother once told me that love wasn't the most important part of a marriage. I don't know if she was right or not, but I don't think it was a bad start."

He may have been any of those things he'd said. It might not be completely irrational to call him moody, or a know-it-all, or bossy. He certainly wasn't a perfect person, but neither was she. She wasn't perfect, and he wasn't perfect, and she loved him for it. He was hers, her diamond in the rough, and she wouldn't have him any other way.


	27. Letters

5/8/14.

* * *

"What does that word say?"

The little girl in Vilkas' lap pointed at a spot on the book he was reading. He hadn't been reading aloud, but he'd taken his time on each page, giving his daughter a chance to look at the words and, with any luck, read a few of them herself. Really, he'd been reading it for her; after all, he knew the histories of the Companions as well as anyone by now, and this book was one of the first he'd read when he'd started learning them.

"Look at the letters," he said softly, underlining the word with her. "What letters do you see?"

Ursula's mouth twisted up to the side as she scrutinized it. "Y," she said slowly, drawing out the diphthong of the vowel. "S. Um..." She trailed off as she tried to figure out the next letter. To be fair, the words were very elaborately constructed on the page, almost more works of art than they were actual letters. "G?"

"Very good!"

The little girl smiled before continuing. "R. A. M. O. R." Her nose scrunched a bit as she thought about it. "What does that mean?"

"Sound it out," he encouraged her, gently as he could. Admittedly, he had moments of irritation when she couldn't figure the simpler words, but he did his best not to show it, trying in those moments to imitate his wife with her almost infinite patience.

Ursula squinted at the word. "Yuhsgramor."

"_Ysgramor_," he corrected her.

"That's not a real word, Da." Ursula frowned just a bit, and it was all he could do not to laugh. She was likely the only person he'd ever met who was quite as stubborn as himself. She may have looked every bit like Ria, from her nose to her elbows, but there was no doubt she was his daughter. She'd even inherited his old temper.

"Ah, but it is," Vilkas explained proudly. "Ysgramor was the first Harbinger of the Companions-"

"Like Auntie Oslaine!" Ursula interrupted, her face lighting up as she finally understood _something_ he was talking about.

Vilkas grinned. "Yes. Exactly like Auntie Oslaine. But Ysgramor was the _first_, and he brought together the first five hundred Companions in his fleet of ships headed for Tamriel. And the Harbinger after him was Jeek of the River, who captained the ship Jorrvaskr all the way to Whiterun-"

"But Jorrvaskr's our house."

"It is, yes," he said calmly as he looked down at the girl. "But, _first_, Jorrvaskr was a great ship."

Ursula frowned. "But it's our _house_."

"Ursula!"

Both father and daughter looked up at the sound of Ria's voice calling from down the hallway. Though her voice cut clear through the hallway, she wasn't loud, and Vilkas presumed she'd only just managed to get the twins to sleep. She motioned towards the little girl, who promptly sat bolt upright. Vilkas lifted the book high enough that she could jump down from where she sat on his knee and run towards her mother.

"Lucia and Ulva are going down to the market," Ria told their daughter just barely loud enough for Vilkas to hear, "and they want you to go with them. Now, I told them you could, but you are not to leave Lucia's sight, and, if you disobey her, she has my permission to bop you on the head. Understood?"

Ursula nodded before turning towards the stairwell. Halfway there, she paused, apparently in deep thought, and she ran back towards her mother and tugged on her sleeve. Ria crouched down so that she was eye-level with the little girl, and Ursula took the opportunity to whisper something in her ear. Vilkas couldn't make out what it was, but he could see Ria nodding in agreement before shooing her off upstairs once again.

"What did she tell you?" Vilkas asked as his wife walked towards him with a hint of a grin on her face.

Ria's smile widened as she sat on the bench next to him. "She said that you told her that Jorrvaskr was a boat and that I should let you know that it wasn't. So, there you have it. Jorrvaskr wasn't a boat."

Of course. The girl really _was_ as stubborn as he. He laughed as he shut his copy of _Great Harbingers_ and put it to the side. "I suppose she must be right, and the book I'd been reading to her got it all wrong."

"You know, dear," Ria said, taking his hand in hers, "maybe history books aren't necessarily the _best_ ones to teach her to read with. She's intelligent, but those could wait a couple years." When he opened his mouth to protest, she squeezed his hand. "Maybe try _Kolb and the Dragon_ next time. She'll learn her letters one way or another. There's no need to make her a historian yet."


	28. Promise

5/9/14.

* * *

"But _mama_-"

"No buts! You said you'd do it, and in this family we keep our promises."

The little girl in front of Ria groaned as she trudged off upstairs to the main mead hall. It wasn't as though _Ria_ had volunteered her to help clean the tables while Tilma took a day off, nor had she commanded the sky to be clear and bright or the air to be warm, nor had she told Lucia and Ulva and Ulva's little sister, Lyall, to go play and invite Ursula along. But she _did_ expect her daughter to keep her word, as any good Companion would be expected to do.

Grinning to herself, Ria followed her daughter up the steps. If she expected her to learn that promises were to be kept, she should at least help the child and show that cleaning wasn't such a punishment. Besides, if left to her own devices, the girl would leave the mead hall in a bigger mess than it had been before, and that wouldn't do at all. Of course, it didn't hurt that her cleaning meant that her husband was left to deal with the twins, who both desperately needed a diaper change and a nap.

The cleaning really wasn't all that much, with two. To be fair, Ria did most of the work, given that Ursula was still too short to reach all the way across the tables, but she could carry things from one place to the next and generally be helpful. By the time they'd finished, the tables were spotless, and a smiling Vilkas had joined them in the hall.

"Good job," Ria said as she patted her daughter on the back. "Tilma will be very thankful for all that hard work you've done. Now, put this bucket away, and you can go outside."

The little girl ran off to do as she was told, and Ria grabbed a bottle of mead and took a seat next to her husband. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close before pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

"Yuck." Ursula scampered back across the mead hall towards the doors. "_K__issing_."

Ria smiled at the girl's grimace. "Go on outside, before the clouds come out."

The little girl ran out the doors, and Ria watched them shut behind her. Her fingers laced with those of her husband, who chortled away at their daughter's disgust. "You're teaching her well, love."

"I can only hope so." She smiled absently as she leaned against his chest. "I just need to make sure she knows she has to keep her promises."

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand. "If you can teach me to keep an eye on two twin boys and get them to sleep at the same time, you can teach her to keep a promise." As he held her closer and kissed her forehead lightly, she found she could only agree with him.


	29. Simple

5/10/14.

* * *

Few things in Vilkas' life had come easy.

Childhood hadn't been easy; not when he was merely some orphan the Companions had taken pity on, not when Jergen left and didn't come back, and certainly not when he was obviously smaller than his brother. He'd had the Companions, he'd had Farkas, and he'd had Tilma, and sometimes that was enough. Sometimes having Tilma there was enough to make up for the fact that he had no mother, and sometimes Askar or Kodlak's words of wisdom made up for Jergen's disappearance, and sometimes Farkas' presence made up for the scorn he endured from the other children.

Taking the beast blood had been harder still. He'd suffered nightmares, resisted the call of the blood as much as he could, and still ended up hurting people he'd cared about. Lycanthropy made his already sour nature worse, and ridding himself of it was the only wise decision he'd made in regards to it at all. He swore it had ruined his ability to sleep straight through the night for the rest of his life.

Raising children didn't look to be easy, either. It was difficult, finding a way to balance sternness with warmth, holding back his impatience when he really had no idea how fathers ought to act. He wanted to spoil them all, he wanted to be strict and teach them well, but most of the time he ended up a mess on either end, as keeping them out of trouble was enough work as it was.

But this, where he was right now, this was easy. It was so simple, he often wondered why it took him so long to realize it.

Right now, it was the middle of the night. He hadn't the faintest idea as to why he was still awake, but he wasn't complaining. Rarely did he get moments of complete peace. But now, he could just lay in the silence the night offered, with his wife curled up beside him. Ria always slept that way, with her head on his chest and her leg folded over him, even though the bed was large enough for her to spread out. The only break in this routine was during the later parts of Ria's pregnancies, when she was too large to lie comfortably that way. And in those months he missed her, though she was still right beside him, because he felt as though she belonged there, much in the same way his arm belonged wrapped about her back and holding her close, and the way his hand belonged clutched to her shoulder and his fingers belonged brushing over it.

Yes, it seemed so simple, now that he knew it. Falling in love with her, that had been the simplest thing he had ever done. And lying beside her in the middle of the night, huddled together and not saying a word, simply _being_ there, that was his key to happiness.

Not that there weren't other things that made him happy. His children made him happy. Fighting alongside the Companions made him happy. But the quickest route to bliss, the simplest solution to all of his troubles, was feeling her heart beating against him, rubbing his thumb absently over her shoulder, and leaning his face down to press gentle kisses to the top of her head. It was better than training, better than sex (though he was not one to complain whenever he accidentally woke her and she ended up straddling him within the next few minutes). It was, without a doubt, the happiest he ever felt.

It was so perfect.

And it was so simple.


	30. Future

5/11/14.

* * *

As Ria watched her husband play with their children, her heart swelled in her chest. Everything she saw before her brought tears to her eyes for all the happiness it reminded her of.

One day, it wouldn't be the same, and she knew that.

One day, Ursula would be a grown woman. Perhaps she would join the Companions when she became of age, or perhaps she wouldn't. Maybe she would run off to Solitude and join the Bard's College, and read every day, as she so loved to do now, and sing and live in the luxury the city offered. Or she might simply leave to get married, as many young women in Tamriel did.

One day, Hallbjorn and Oberon would stop being inseparable copies of their father. They would develop their own personalities and go their own ways. Perhaps Hallbjorn would train in restoration and become an acolyte at the Temple of Kynareth, and perhaps Oberon would join the Imperial Legion. Perhaps that would be reversed, or perhaps they would both be Companions.

One day, she and Vilkas would be old and weathered, if time and luck allowed them as much. They would no longer be protectors of Skyrim, or, at least, they would no longer be on the first line of defense. Companions would come and go. Perhaps they themselves would leave, though she had a difficult time imagining Vilkas would ever truly wish to abandon Jorrvaskr.

And one day, they would pass, as all men and mer and beasts do. Vilkas would go to Sovngarde, as his cured soul allowed, and Ria... well, she wasn't sure where she would go. If Oslaine was right, it didn't truly matter if she was a Nord or not, but it didn't bother her much either way. She would either be remembered in death for valiance and go on to Sovngarde, or she would meet her family once again.

But that was nothing to be worried about. That was all hypothetical, and it was all in the future. Right now was what mattered.

Right now, all was well. Right now, she and Vilkas were truly happy, their children were safe and well-loved, and their home was filled with family and friends who were there for them every step of the way. Right now, she could sit back and smile as she watched her husband crouch down low so that he could be on the same level as the three small children in front of him, and she could watch their faces light up as their papa played with them.

And right now was perfect.

* * *

**AN:** Thank you so much for reading this story! If you've made it to the end, you must have the patience of a saint, bless you. Between writing and publishing, this took me the better part of two months, and I'm genuinely touched that anyone at all would take the time to read it. I definitely plan on writing more about this pairing eventually (I can't help it- I like NPC/NPC ships), but first I'm going to revise and publish the backstory I've been writing about Ria and hopefully work out some of the fics I've been writing for months but can't seem to finish up for the life of me.

Thanks again!


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